The Untouchable
by WastelandRose
Summary: She's almost frail but, on second glance, carved out of stone by fire and horror. Polished smooth by her stubborn will to not crumble under the strain of living. Radiating an impenetrable glow of strength, intelligence, kindness. Unbreakable. Untouchable.
1. Part 1: Broken Promises

Part 1 - Broken Promises

Isabel Cooper's least favorite way of being woken up in the morning is by being kicked in the stomach.

Unfortunately, that's the way she's been woken up every morning for awhile now.

"Get up, Izzy," and she pries open her swollen eyelids to the harsh, uncaring face of her only living relative. "If you don't get your fuckin lazy arse up you won't get to King's in time for the morning rush," Jordan tells her with hate in his voice.

Isabel winces from the kick that follows, partly from the pain, but mostly from the physical contact, "Don't touch me, Jordy. I'm goin."

The little girl of ten with the skeletal frame slowly uncurls from the pile of rags in the corner where she sleeps and stands on legs that are unsteady and weak from cold, hunger, and abuse.

_SMACK_ "I can touch whoever the fuck I want you little bitch, and I told you NOT to call me Jordy!!" And Isabel is on the ground again, biting back tears and once again wondering where her sweet and caring older brother Jordy went, why he chooses to be Jordan, this brute that hits her and wakes her up with sharp kicks, and, especially, when Jordy will be coming back.

"Sorry, Jordan," She gives in weakly as she makes another attempt at standing. Her brother sneers at her and turns his back. Shirtless, he walks to the couch that Isabel is not allowed to sit on at the other end of the room, and flops down calmly, folding his massive, combat boot clad feet over each other on the arm rest and tucking his thick, tanned arms behind his head of scraggly chestnut hair. The way he's sitting, Isabel can just barely see the strange marks her brother always has on the crooks of his elbows, the ones that make him hit her whenever she's stupid enough to ask about them. He calls over at her with his eyes shut lazily, "Damn right you're sorry. Don't even bother coming back with anything less than a hundred-fifty."

She stands awkwardly in her corner, wanting to ask, but knowing she shouldn't. Jordan cracks one eye and peers over at her, "Why are you still here?"

"Is there anything to eat?" She asks quietly, softly, apprehensively. Twenty-year-old Jordan Cooper laughs cruelly at his baby sister, "Not for you fatso. Get your fuckin arse outta here."

xxXxx

"COOP!! YOUR BITCHY LITTLE WHORE OF A SISTER IS IN MY ROOM!!!" The burly boy with the shaved head and tattoo that scares little eight-year-old Isabel screams loudly as he grabs her arm, crushing and bruising her soft, pale flesh.

"OW!! Don't touch me!" She cries softly, weakly, "Jordy! Help!" Lately, it's been getting harder and harder to get her eighteen-year-old brother to help her keep his scary friends away from her, but she hopes against her past experiences that he will come to her rescue and make this scary boy stop touching her.

"Let her go, Craig. She doesn't like to be touched," The deep voice Isabel called for drawls from the doorway. She is dropped ungracefully onto her back and cries softly as she pulls herself up quickly and scrambles away to shield herself behind Jordy.

But Jordy smells funny. She looks up. He's smoking and has a glazed look on his face. "J-Jordy?" She asks hesitantly. He looks down at her, "Quit calling me that. My name's Jordan."

She cries harder because his name is Jordy. Always has been since for as long as she can remember. "Stop crying you little baby," he scolds as he strolls out of the doorway, "Come on, I gave Craig this room and there's none left. You'll hafta share with me."

He leads her past the hoards of scary people who are smoking, talking, laughing, and sleeping in various parts of their house, only stopping when he reaches his own room.

Jordan gestures toward the corner, "There. Go to sleep and quit bothering us." She tries hard to listen to her brother, because he always seems to know what's best for her, but it's hard to sleep on the floor, that might as well have been a sheet of ice, and she shivers and cries softly to herself for hours.

When she wakes up, Jordy is back and she's no longer on the floor. She's curled in a ball on Jordy's couch and he's gently draping his own blankets over her, whispering soft apologies and promises. She wants to believe him, and so she lets herself, lets his soft voice guide her back into sleep.

xxXxx

"Jordy! Look at this one!" Isabel calls happily to her older brother as she gestures at a dilapidated, but charming old abandoned building, "The sign says condemned, but we should check it out!"

Jordan puts his hand softly onto her shoulder, having to remind himself that her flinch at his touch is involuntary and the fact that she didn't shrink away from him shows that she is trying hard to get over it. He tells her, "I don't know Iz. It doesn't look very safe and it's gotta be condemned for a reason. What if it caves in on you?"

"Ah, you worry too much, Jor. It looks cool," She states softly, the child-like awe in her voice making her brother smile. It's not often that he hears her voice sound like it matches her six-year-old body and it's enough to make him agree to enter the building with her. "Just be careful Iz," He warns sternly, "Or I won't give you any lessons tomorrow."

She sticks out her tongue at him and they scale the chain link fence that surrounds the graffiti-ed structure.

"Holy WOW! This place is humungous! And it doesn't look like there's anything wrong with it besides being dirty," Isabel remarks as she looks around the building in wide-eyed amazement. Jordan laughs, "I think you're right. We've finally found a place of our own." They exchange a quick glance and then both bolt in opposite directions, each trying to be the first to find and claim the best room for his or her own.

They both know that no matter what, Jordy will give his baby sister the best room, the one that's cleanest and least drafty, the one that she likes best, but their game is fun and it's not often that they can just let themselves have fun. The reality of being a pair of underage runaways with no one but each other just doesn't allow it.

"Alright Iz, that one," sixteen-year-old Jordan Cooper instructs his sister over the bustle of voices in King's Cross Station the morning after they found their home, "And remember, be quick, and be gentle, and don't get caught. Any trouble at all, and you just run."

She smiles, "I can do it. I've been practicing! Just like you said!" Jordy smiles back, pride swelling his muscular, but far too lean chest as his sister triumphantly hands him his own wallet.

"Cheeky little brat," He chuckles, bending to give her a kiss on the forehead, "Didn't teach you so that you could rob _me_."

The girl answers with a bright grin, and her brother commands, "Alright, go on. Let's see what you can do with people that don't trust you as much as I do."

Izzy shoots him one more smirk, then walks casually toward a stocky man in a trench coat. She effortlessly brushes by him, darting her small nimble hand into his pocket while continuing to remain completely unnoticed.

Jordy meets her on the other side of the station to trap her in a hug as she proudly hands over a brown leather wallet to her brother, teasing, "Told ya."

He smiles at her as he pulls the bills out of the wallet and counts them, "I didn't doubt you. Now come on, let's go get some food and some blankets. You were shivering last night, Izzy-baby."

She grins crookedly as she remembers waking up wrapped in Jordy's jacket. Fighting her urge to shrink back when she feels his skin touch hers, she lets him encircle her tiny hand with his own, and replies, "Well, it was cold. Can we get ice cream?"

"You goofy little git," Jordan teases lightly as he drags his sister along beside him, smiling down at her affectionately, "You were just complaining about being cold and now you want ice cream?" He takes a moment to stop and drop the wallet into the lost and found box.

Isabel looks contemplative and then responds, "Oh ya. Well, can we get Chinese food then? I like the fried rice with the carrots that we got from that place by the cinema." Jordan smiles down at his baby sister, "Sure Izzy, whatever you want. You're _way_ too skinny."

xxXxx

"Izzy, what's wrong, baby?" Jordan asks as he crouches down under the hanging coats in the closet under the stairs to find that he was not mistaken when he thought he heard his four-year-old sister's sobs. She has her knees pulled to her chest and is crying into them, her long amber curls encasing her head and doing a bad job at muffling her tiny, pathetic weeping. He crawls in, positioning himself beside Isabel and making an attempt to comfort his baby sister by resting his hand on her back.

She flinches and cries and backs away from him. Fourteen-year-old Jordan Cooper knows that there's something wrong, he's known it for some time. He's known it ever since his normally happy and affectionate sister began acting sullen and stopped allowing him to touch her in any way. That was almost two years ago, when they were taken in by Uncle Richard. At first he thought it was just her way of mourning their parents' deaths, but now he knows better.

"Iz," He coos softly as he moves himself toward the cowering child in the corner. She looks up at him, the tears spilling from her soft brown eyes sparkling in the hall light as they snake their way down her china doll face. "Jordy?" She whispers softly as she sniffles back her tears, "Hi, Jordy."

"Hi, Izzy-baby," he coos softly back as he moves closer, "What s'matter? Why are you crying?" She furiously rubs her enormous eyes with tiny balled fists as she replies in a soft, broken voice, "I'm not crying."

He scoops her miniscule body up from the ground in one fluid movement and holds her on his lap, wrapping his long, lanky arms around her tightly when she begins to struggle and cry softly. Stroking her hair and kissing her head, Jordan asks a question that he already knows the answer to but has been hoping against all the signs that he was imagining it, "Isabel, is somebody hurting you?"

She stops fighting and lays limp as a rag doll in his arms. She takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, and then, with a sharp, heart-wrenching sob, buries her head against his collarbone, and reaches up to encircle his sinewy neck in her tiny arms. Jordan holds her as she cries, hugs her tightly for the first time in a long time, and vows that he will make the one responsible for doing this to his innocent little sister pay. "I'm sorry Izzy," he whispers softly against her neck, "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, but I promise that _no one_ will _ever_ hurt you again."

He holds her, cradling her against his body and cursing himself for not seeing it sooner, and, after her sobs die down into shallow, trembling breaths, he asks, "Who did it Iz? Tell me and I'll make it all better, I _promise_."

Isabel's eyes are heavy and for once she doesn't feel the urge to pull away from the touch of another person. She knows that Jordy loves her, he tells her all the time, but he tells her in the good way. Not the way that Uncle Richie tells her, the way that makes her feel bad and dirty all over, the way that means he's about to hurt her and make her do things that she knows are wrong and make her cry.

"U-U-Unc-Unc-HIC-Uncle Ri-Richie," she chokes quietly against her brother and immediately feels his arms tense around her. She starts to cry again. She thinks that Jordy is mad at her. Uncle Richie said that Jordy would be mad at her if he ever found out about their special game, told her that he would think she was a bad little girl for telling. "J-Jordy?" She asks sheepishly as she looks up to search her brother's kind green eyes. He smiles, "Shhh, everything is gonna be ok. Never again. He'll never be able to hurt you ever again. I'll always keep you safe."

Isabel curls tighter to him and asks sleepily, "Promise?" Jordan lazily strokes her hair as he stares out of the closet, resolving at that exact moment what he is going to do, "I promise, Iz. Go to sleep. Everything will be better when you wake up."

Her eyes flutter closed, long lashes coming to a rest on her tear-stained cheeks, and she asks softly, "Will you tell me a story, Jordy? The one about Mommy and Daddy and the fish?"

He smiles softly against her as his own eyes begin to prick with tears, "Sure, baby. Mommy and Daddy took us fishing one day in a little yellow boat called 'Mary-Lou.'" Isabel giggles sleepily, "That's a funny name for a boat."

A tear slips down Jordan's cheek and he has to force himself to keep his voice from hitching as he lets out a sad laugh, and answers, "It sure is. We took Mary-Lou out on a big lake by our house, and we stayed out there all day. We went swimming after we got bored of trying to fish-"

"Was I there?" Isabel cuts him off with the question she always asks whenever he tells a story about their parents, and he tells her softly, "Ya. You were just a little baby, and you had on a pretty green dress that Mommy sewed for you. Daddy liked it best because his favorite color was green. He told you that you looked like a little mermaid in it." She smiles against him.

"We were swimming," Jordy says, "And all of a sudden, Daddy started making funny noises and jumped back in the boat. We all got in after him, but he started jumping around and doing a funny dance. He nearly knocked us all out."

Isabel yawns and comments sleepily, "Oh no." Jordy holds her tighter, "He started wiggling his foot out in front of him and a big, _fat_ fish fell out of his pants." Isabel giggles softly, already starting to slip off to sleep, but Jordy knows that without the last part of her story she won't.

So he continues, "And Mommy picked up the fish and said, 'Well Dan, thanks for putting dinner down your pants.'" Jordy looks down at his sister just in time to watch her quietly sigh herself into sleep with a slight smile playing across her tiny pink lips.

Hours later, Jordy hears the door open from where he sits in the living room with Isabel asleep next to him, their bags on the floor by his feet. He kisses her softly, and strokes her hair one more time as he gets up, just in time to hear Uncle Richard call, "KIDS! I'm home! I've got pizza! And I rented 'The Little Mermaid' for my little Izzy!" Jordy's stomach churns as he turns to face the burly blonde man who's house he's lived in for the past two years.

Uncle Richard sees the bags, "What's going on Jordan?" Jordy glares, "We're leaving."

"You're _what?_" His uncle asks confusedly as he moves to drop the pizza on the kitchen table. Jordy grits his teeth and conceals the knife behind his arm, "Izzy told me everything." He stops in his track and his shoulders tense visibly.

"Told you what?" He tries to pretend that he doesn't know what Jordy is talking about. It only makes Jordy surer of what he's about to do.

In a few strides, he crosses the room and stands in front of his Uncle Richard. The lanky teenager is tall for his age, but the top of his head still barely even reaches to the man's chest.

"Burn in hell you sick son of a bitch," and, in a twisted way, Jordy feels good as the knife plunges into Uncle Richard's heart, as the crimson hot spray of blood spurts against his face when he pulls it out. So good in fact that he does it again. And again. And again. And again...

xxXxx

"MOM!!!" Twelve-year-old Jordan Cooper screams as he grasps his shaggy chestnut hair in his hands and pulls, "You can't DO this to me!! Why do _I_ have to watch her? Can't you get a babysitter?"

Celeste Cooper finishes putting on her earring, places one final pin in her honey blonde hair, and turns away from the mirror to chastise her son. "Jordy, honey, this isn't a discussion. You have to watch Isabel because Dad and I have to go to this dinner," She says shortly, but still without losing her temper, "Trust me, I would much rather stay home and play with my baby, but I promised your father I'd go this year."

Jordan scowls and stomps his foot, "But Denis' party is tonight! I already said I would go!" Daniel Cooper walks out from the bathroom, trying and failing to tie the bow-tie on his tuxedo as he chuckles, "Well that wasn't too bright, now was it? Celeste, help me out here. I hate these bloody things."

She smiles warmly at her husband, "Honestly, Daniel, a grown man who can't tie his own tie? It's pathetic." Her hands dart up, and gracefully reveal a neat bow seconds later, then dart up just as quickly to make a small adjustment to the lock of dark brown hair that always falls across his forehead and into his warm brown eyes. Dan leans down and kisses his wife softly, "Love you too, Heaven. Jordy, quit being difficult. You're gonna watch Iz for the night and that's it. Maybe if you stop complaining I'll pay you for it. And _maybe_ if you do a good job, we'll even let you throw your own party."

Jordan's face brightens slightly, "Really? You swear?" His father laughs as he crosses the room to scoop his tiny, two-year-old Isabel up from where she had been laid in the midst of the fluffy quilt on the big bed in the master bedroom. "All the time, but never in front of your mother and Iz. It's not polite to swear in front of ladies," Dan remarks as he holds his pretty amber-haired daughter high above his head, smiling despite himself when he hears her bright giggles. He brings her down slowly and kisses her forehead, deeply breathing in the wonderful scent of his baby girl.

"Dan," Celeste calls from the doorway, "You can impart your belief in chivalry later. We have to go or we'll hit traffic." He tucks the little girl under his arm and surveys his wife, nodding approvingly at her very flattering red evening gown as he asks flirtatiously, "Have I mentioned yet that you look simply ravishing, my dear? An absolute vision of loveliness? Quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes upon? An angel sent from above that I am unworthy of? My own little slice of heaven? A-"

She places her hands on her hips and gives him a look he knows all too well as, 'Shut up, you overly-romantic weirdo,' and he cuts himself off. Grinning impishly, he clears his throat, and says, "Yes, well, um, off we go then."

"_Daaaan_," Celeste drawls lazily. He answers, "Yes, dear? Are we forgetting anything?" She rolls her eyes, "Yes. You've forgotten to put Iz down."

Dan glances casually down at the little girl who's tucked underneath his arm, who's chewing on one of his cufflinks, and says, "Hmmm, so I have." He swings her out from under his arm, earning a small squeal of delight from the toddler, and hugs her fiercely against his chest as he kisses her wild mane of curls, "Tell me again why I can't take my baby with me?" Jordan laughs, "Because she chews on everything."

Celeste laughs, too, and adds, "And because when she gets bored during your speech, she'll scream instead of just smiling politely like everyone else." She walks over and kisses the baby as she takes her from his arms, "Jeez, Dan, the way you cling to her, you'd think you were the one who carried her for nine bloody months. Say goodbye to Daddy, Iz! Bye-bye!"

"Bye-bye, Daddy!" Isabel yells in her sweet, babyish voice, waving as her mother hands her off to Jordan, giving the both of them soft kisses on the forehead as she does so. "Bye-bye, Izzy-baby," both the parents call back into the room as they link arms and begin to step out. "Love ya, Jor, g'night," Dan tells his son. "Remember, Izzy has to be in bed by eight, and don't give her any candy," Celeste instructs lightly, "Love you, sweethearts!" The two of them disappear down the hall.

"Well, kid," Jordy remarks lazily as he holds the squirming toddler in front of himself, "Looks like it's just you and me for now." She makes a slight gurgling noise, and then starts glancing around the room.

"Daddy? Mommy?" She shrieks in a panic as she starts to cry quietly. Jordy rocks her gently against his chest, "Aw, don't cry, Izzy. They'll be back soon. I promise." It doesn't help soothe her cries and she clings to her brother's neck.

Jordy hugs her tightly back, "Hey Iz, if you stop crying I might let you have a piece of candy." Her disproportionately large head comes out of the crook of his neck, and she rubs her giant eyes as she informs him, "Mommy says no candy." He lightly butts foreheads with the little girl, and smirks as he teases, "But Mommy didn't say anything about ice cream, did she?" A light giggle comes from the girl and the twinkle in her eyes says, 'I love you for breaking rules for me.' The angle of Jordy's smirk changes, turning it from mischievous to affectionate as it replies 'I love you for being my baby sister.'

Jordy is giving Isabel a bath when the doorbell rings. He has to momentarily abandon his efforts of removing the chocolate-with-rainbow-sprinkles goo from the girl's thick, gold-brown curls to take her out of the water and answer it.

"Son," The man in the uniform on the doorstep begins gruffly, going for but not really pulling off 'caring authority figure', "You and your sister are going to have to come with us..."

And the next words change his life, and the life of the little girl wrapped in a Little Mermaid towel under his arm forever, "...There's been an accident..."

xxXxx

Shaking, skeletal Isabel Cooper draws the thin flannel shirt she had to steal from her brother tighter around herself as she wades her way through the unconscious bodies on the floor in the hallway outside Jordan's room. Her brother's friends, and, in some cases, the random strangers that just happened to wander in, sometimes scare Isabel, but mostly, they make her angry.

Jordy had still been Jordy before these people started hanging around and she knows that they're the ones who made him the way he is.

Careful not to wake any of the people, remembering with a shudder what happened the one time she had, the small girl of only ten sets out for a day of work. Nothing about her intention of returning to the condemned building later that night makes sense to anyone but her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I know what you guys are thinking: 'Another story? Dude, you don't put up enough updates for the ones you already have!' True, but there does happen to be a method to my madness.

A boy I know was killed awhile ago by a drunk driver and I'm really not feeling up to writing. I don't know when I'll feel up to it again but didn't want to leave you guys high and dry, hence the new story. It's one I've already written up to about 12 chapters, so I figure that'll give me plenty of time to deal with... stuff and you guys will still have something to read. I'm sorry but this is like the fifth kid from my valley who's been killed by a drunk and I'm having a hard time with it. I didn't even know him very well, but, for fuck's sake, we played teeball together...

So, anyways, sorry guys. I'll try to keep posting regularly until I can get back into some writing. Thanks for being understanding.

In case you were confused by the timeline, it starts off with her at 10, then goes to 8, 6, 4, 2, and then back to 10.


	2. Part 2: An Owl?

Part 2 - An Owl?

Isabel Cooper has never been caught with her hand in a pocket that was not her own. She is far too smart and far too good at what she does for that.

Jordy taught her how stealing is ok when you need to eat, and how to steal when she needs to eat, and how it's only fair to the person you steal from to always return their wallet to the lost and found. Jordy made her promise when he agreed to teach her, after much begging and many 'my sister will not be a thief' arguments, that she would only ever steal when she had to eat.

She can quote his philosophy from memory, 'Every person has a right to exist, and if you've gotta steal from other people to do it, then you're only allowed to steal just enough to keep on existing, and never steal any other person's existence because they have a right to theirs just as much as you have a right to yours.' Even though Jordy went away, Isabel still abides by his teachings.

Isabel Cooper steals to eat, but Jordan Cooper sends his little sister out to steal so he can get high with his friends. The world-weary girl doesn't quite understand what Jordan does with the money she gives him everyday, or why he demands so much and never has anything to show for it, but she knows that he does not spend it on food. Even so, Isabel Cooper steals in the _hopes_ that she will eat that night, even though she rarely does, so her promise to Jordy is kept.

It's amazing that none of the employees at King's Cross Station have ever noticed her. She has been there by herself all day everyday, in every variety of extreme weather, on every holiday and every school-day for almost an entire year, ever since Jordan got caught and was banned from the terminal. Perhaps it's because she's so small, or that she tries hard _not_ to be noticed no matter what she does, or that she blends into the background with her drab clothing and listless brown eyes, but either way, none of the employees at King's Cross Station has ever noticed her.

Jordan Cooper has his picture up near the ticket booth. After Jordy went away, Jordan got sloppy and got caught.

Isabel brushes past a short man with dark skin and an odd bowler hat and comes up with a black leather wallet with twenty-three pounds in it. She puts it in her pocket, where she keeps the wallets until she drops them all into the lost and found at once at the end of the day, and walks back through the crowd. She dips her hand into the designer purse of a thin woman with unnaturally orangeish hair and comes out with the matching designer wallet. Only credit cards though and she stashes it in her pocket. She weaves her way through a family of red-heads and finds herself in possession of a stick and a little pouch of toy-money with funny pictures on it. She puts them both in her pocket.

The morning hours continue in this way until it's a little before eleven o'clock and Isabel is nearly falling over from hunger, fatigue, and cold. She uses a few pounds to buy some black coffee from the snack bar and settles herself in a secluded corner, not to drink the beverage, but just to try to warm her tiny, slender hands against it.

"AH! Cooper's sister," A malicious and familiar voice croons from above her, "Looks like it's my lucky day." Slowly, she brings her head up, her soft brown eyes wide and frightened. "Coop owes me money," The large man with the hideous tattoos all over his neck and arms states flatly from where he stands in front of his group of enforcers, "Gimme everything you got."

Like a cornered mouse, she shrinks back against the wall, knowing that there's no way she can run through the solid brick but desperate to try all the same, "I-I don't have anything."

The cracking sound that comes from her ankle as his fist closes around it makes her shiver. The snaps of her neck as he holds her upside down and shakes her back and forth make her cry out softly, harder when she hears the wallets and money fall out of her pockets and onto the ground. Jordan will be angry with her for losing all that money.

The man drops her from so high up that she has time to turn her body slightly so that she lands on her boney shoulder, only slightly scraping her cheek against the ground instead of cracking her head open. They gather the money as she scrambles to her feet, making a frantic grab to save whatever she can before she makes a run for it.

Unfortunately, all she gets is the stick and pouch of toy-money before she bolts. She curses herself as she jams them into her pockets and runs away from the shouts of the scary men that she knows are chasing her.

Urging her achingly weak limbs forward with all the speed she can muster with thoughts of what will happen if she allows herself to be caught, Isabel pushes through the throngs of travelers. In moments, she feels lightheaded and knows she's in bad shape when she hallucinates a boy with an owl...

_"An owl?"_ She thinks to herself confusedly, turning her head completely around to keep her gaze on it as she runs. It disappears from her line of sight and she turns her head back around, just in time to see the brick barrier only inches from her face. She squeezes her eyes shut tight and prepares for the impact.

Nothing happens. _"Maybe I died..."_ She ponders to herself when she doesn't feel any of the horrible pain she braced herself for. Isabel Cooper slowly opens her eyes.

She's never seen a scarlet steam engine before. It's a rather unusual color to see, especially in such a violent shade. She looks frantically around at the platform in front of her, the one that has never been there before, and tries to soak in the crowds of children, and parents, and luggage trunks, and _more owls._

"Aw, bloody hell!" A shrill voice from behind her cries seconds before she's on the ground, immediately panicking from the feeling of a body pinning her down.

"Sorry, totally my fault. Here let me help you up. I've probably made us both late now," A girl's voice, happy and cheerful, states as the body pulls off of her and a hand rests on her shoulder. She flinches and pull away, "No, it's ok. I'm fine."

Struggling against her weak muscles, Isabel slowly forces herself up off the ground and comes face to face with a smiling girl who's about a foot taller than her, with bright purple spikes topping off her lithe form. Her faded red t-shirt, with 'Hug A Muggle' printed messily across the front in what looks to be black marker, is slightly confusing. Isabel isn't sure what a muggle is, but decides in an instant that it's probably some sort of endangered animal. The girl's short, green and yellow floral patterned, pleated skirt swishes from side-to-side around her thin legs, legs that are covered in orange and white polka-dot leggings that reach to just below her knees, as she rocks back and forth on her Birkenstock clad feet and watches Isabel's progress with a happy, yet still somehow concerned smirk.

"You sure you're alright?" The girl asks with a cautious grin, "You don't look too good."

"Ya, I'm fine," Isabel answers flatly, "Thanks." The girl's smile turns brighter and more carefree, and she reaches down to grab Isabel's hand, dragging the girl behind her as she goes for the train and calling back, "Good, now run! The train's pulling away without us! Your stuff's already on it, right? Mine is. Good thing I put it on there as soon as my mum and dad dropped me off. It was too early though so I got bored and just HAD to get out of there and there's nothing interesting on 9 and 3/4 so I went back out to buy some magazines, but the stand didn't have any that I liked, so I walked around and then there was this guy with a guitar who was playing some jazz out in front and I was just totally into it and lost track of time, ya know?"

Isabel doesn't answer, she just lets herself be dragged along as she tries in vain to wrench her hand from the grasp of this strange, talkative, purple-haired girl. The girl, however, doesn't take any notice as she chatters away and jumps onto the moving train, pulling Isabel with her. Once they're both safely inside she finally lets her go. Isabel suddenly realizes that she's allowed a strange girl to pull her onto a strange train that should not exist and whose destination she does not know. _"I'm in trouble..."_

"So, what's your name?" The girl asks as she offers her hand, "I'm Nymphadora but I hate that name so I make everybody call me Tonks, like my dad." She giggles and groans at herself and then adds, "Ugh, wordy. I should just say 'Hi I'm Tonks' and be done with it."

Isabel stares at the hand being offered with no intention of taking it. She's not really sure yet what to do about the complete and utter nutcase attached to that hand, her well-meaning, yet clueless kidnapper. After realizing what a strange look Tonks is giving her, and deciding that she seems like she's nice, Isabel finally states simply, "I'm Izzy."

"AW! ZANGERS! COOL NAME!" She exclaims loudly, eliciting a small smile from Izzy with her uninhibited enthusiasm, "Is it short for something?" Izzy smiles and nods as she says, "Isabel."

"Bloody wicked. Want to sit with me? I'm a first year so I don't really know anybody besides you," Tonk's asks as she begins rummaging through her pockets and walking down the hallway. Isabel hesitates momentarily, thinking that maybe this would be a good time to tell the girl that she's not supposed to be on this train, but she likes her, likes how nice she's been to her although she barely knows her, so she responds, "Sure."

"Want a chocolate frog?" Tonks asks the slight, scruffy girl in rags by her side as they search the train for an available compartment. The girl's stomach groans out a 'hell yes' as her mouth answers, "No thank you. I'm not hungry." As irrational as it may be, Isabel doesn't want to eat. She wants Jordan to not call her a fatso anymore.

"That's a load of dung from a dragon with a bowel disease!" Tonks answers as she shoves the candy into her new friend's hand, "Your tummy is growling louder than a rogue troll with doxies in his knickers and you look skinny enough to get blown away. Eat the chocolate!"

Isabel complies, slowly peeling back the wrapping as Tonks muses to herself, "Do trolls even wear knickers?" Isabel smirks slightly and wonders how on earth this girl can still believe in silly things like trolls. Jordan told her a long time ago that creatures like trolls, and fairies, and unicorns... and little mermaids... don't exist.

The chocolate squirms free from her hands. "_Wait, the chocolate does WHAT?_" Before she has a chance to comprehend the chocolate frog hopping away down the hall, Tonks turns to her and asks, "What card did you get?" It takes a moment for Isabel to take her mind off the frog long enough to answer blankly, "Uh, card?"

"Ya, see," Tonks points to a scrap in her hands, "OOO! You got Wendellyn the Weird! She's the coolest! I've got like a billion of her! I tried to wallpaper my room with 'em, but the Wendellyns kept making obscene gestures at me so Mum made me take 'em all down... You alright Izzy? You're looking a little pale."

The skinny blonde woman on the card winks. She winks and then bends over, hikes up her neon green robes, and moons Isabel. Isabel is feeling quite dizzy. The tattoo of 'Place Lips Here' across the woman's right butt cheek doesn't exactly help matters, especially when it changes shape and becomes a pair of bright red lips and then quickly changes back.

Isabel sways a little and looks up at Tonks when she makes her inquiry, just in time to watch the other girl's features and bright-purple hair morph to match her own. She's looking at her mirror image where her chatty accidental-kidnapper used to be. "_She's right. I do look pale,_" Is the girl's last coherent thought before her vision clouds and her body falls heavily to the ground.

xxXxx

"I don't know what happened! We were talking about chocolate frog cards and then her face went all white. Maybe I scared her when I changed into her..."

"You did what? Are you a-"

"Yes! I am! Stop worrying about me and fix Izzy!"

"There's nothing to fix. She's fainted and she'll come around whenever she comes around."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"THIS IS TAKING TOO BLOODY LONG!!"

"WELL SCREAMING ISN'T GOING TO HELP!!"

"Both of you need to shut your gobs or you're going to get the Heads after you."

"Ya, he's right. Yori will probably understand, but Pam will definitely hex _you_ into oblivion for scaring her like that."

"I'm sorry alright! I didn't know she was going to _faint!!_"

"Leave her alone. It's probably only partly her fault. The girl doesn't really look like she's very healthy. She's skinny as hell, and her arms are all bruised, see."

The hand peeling up the sleeve of her loose flannel shirt snaps Izzy fully awake and she swats it away and scrambles back along the bench seat and into a large window. Her limp, dark amber curls half veil her frightened, sunken brown eyes and she clutches her knees to her chest and surveys the small compartment.

Tonks is standing in between the seats, now with two long, lime-green pigtails dropping from behind her elfish ears and her face once again her own. She looks nervous as she sheepishly fingers the bottom of her skirt and rapidly shuffles her feet.

At the other end of the seat on which Izzy is cowering, a tall, lanky boy with shaggy, shoulder-length, tomato-colored hair and a kind face speckled with dark freckles smiles comfortingly at her. "Hello there," He says softly as he tries to scoot closer to Izzy, stopping when he notices her flinch and shrink further against the wall, "I'm Bill. How are you feeling?" She answers softly, "Fine."

"You sure?" Two voices ask at once from the seat on the opposite side of the compartment. Izzy turns her head and sees a pair of olive-skinned twins, who are identical aside from the lengths of their curly, chocolate-colored hair. One of the boys, the boy closest to the window revealing the rapidly moving expanses of countryside, has his hair cut short with his curls clinging tightly to his head, and the boy closest to the door has his much longer and sticking out from his head in wavier curls that bounce as he rocks back and forth on the seat with a goofy smile on his face.

Izzy nods in response and the long-haired twin offers his hand as he says, "I'm Myron, and this is Mac. Are you really sure you're alright? You still look pale. You want a sandwich or something?"

She stares down at but does not take Myron's hand as she shakes her head in reply. He looks to his brother, shrugs, and drops his arm back down. Bill clears his throat loudly, "So, um, I'm guessing you're a first-year. Right?"

She doesn't quite know what he means by that, but at the moment she's a little too frightened (scared out of her wits) to do anything but nod, so that's exactly what she does.

"Ah," Bill says casually as he sits back against the wall by the door, "That would explain it then. You don't need to be frightened. Hogwarts is great and I'm sure you'll have the time of your life." Slowly coming to realize that these people don't mean her any harm, Izzy nods and says softly, "Ok."

Myron smiles and exclaims happily, "Great! Now how about telling us how you're really feeling? I don't really buy the whole 'fine' thing, 'specially not from a twitchy little toothpick like you."

She pauses for a moment as she glances around at the concern filled faces in the compartment, and then says plainly, "Kinda dizzy."

Tonks' snicker breaks the solemnity as she remarks, "Izzy's dizzy." All the boys turn and gives her their own version of the 'so not funny' look and she quickly stops laughing and says, "Uh, sorry. And, er, sorry I scared you earlier. I didn't even think that you might be a muggle-born."

With the concern and warm smiles putting her at ease, Izzy's courage and curiosity begin to return, and she asks softly, "What's that mean?" The short-haired twin, Mac, the one with the slightly calmer and more serious demeanor, tells her flatly, "A muggle's a non-magic person. Muggle-born means a magic person who came from non-magic parents."

She's about to open her mouth to ask what on earth he's talking about, when the door of the compartment slides open with a loud slam and a small, stocky, red-headed boy comes in looking flustered. He cries shrilly, "BILL!! I can't find it! Somebody's stolen my wand!"

Bill rolls his eyes and snaps shortly, "Not even a whole hour into the ride and you've already lost your wand? Bloody hell, Charlie, can't you keep track of anything?" The little boy, Charlie apparently, scowls as his face flushes red behind his dark and numerous freckles, and he clenches his fists and screams back, "I DIDN'T LOSE IT!! IT WAS RIGHT IN MY POCKET IN THE STATION AND I DIDN'T TOUCH IT SINCE THEN!! SOMEBODY _STOLE_ IT!!"

"THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT YOUR SOCKS THIS MORNING!! AND YOUR LUCKY SHORTS!! AND YOUR HAT!! AND YOU FOUND THEM ALL RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT THEM!!! STOP BEING SO STUPID AND PARANOID AND JUST GO AND FIND THE DAMN THING!!" Bill screams back, losing the calm that he had displayed earlier and scaring Izzy slightly with his sudden mood swing.

Charlie's small, round face turns a deep shade of maroon, but he looks like he's trying to hold in his anger. A moment later he grits his teeth and groans in a soft, defeated voice, "Will you _please_ help me find it?"

"What's all the screaming for, and what's this I hear about a first year fainting?" A handsome boy's face pops into the compartment over Charlie. He has a devilish, but warm smirk playing across his angular features, and his dark eyes, hair, and skin give him a smoky and mysterious look.

Bill turns and smiles at him, "Hey Yori. Congrats on making Head Boy. The screaming was just me and my _stupid git_ little brother, and she fainted." He holds out his arm to gesture at Izzy and she flinches involuntarily. It was noticeable, it usually isn't because she's learned to keep it under control, but seeing Bill get angry scared her and it made her a little jumpy when she saw his arm snap in her direction.\

Everyone looks worriedly at the shaking little girl and Yori smiles a warm smile as he pushes Charlie aside, steps into the compartment, and kneels beside her. "Hi, I'm Yori Archer, and I'm the Head Boy. What's your name?"

"Izzy Cooper," She answers softly as she tries to back away from Yori. He never stops smiling as he replies, "That's a pretty name. Do you feel ok?"

"She says she's dizzy," Tonks cuts in loudly with her hands on her hips, "Her tummy was growling earlier so I gave her a chocolate frog, but it got away, and she might have hit her head when she fell. See, she's got a scrape on her cheek."

"That was already there," Izzy informs them softly as she reaches up to run her fingertips over the scrape on her left cheekbone. The little spot of blood feels sticky and slightly crusty.

"Well," Yori says, "Either way, I should check you for injuries." He looks thoughtful for a moment and then says, "Take out your wand, I'll teach you how to do a healing spell on your cheek too."

She just looks at him confusedly and squeaks, "No, I'm ok. Really." He just smiles and pulls out a stick that looks similar to the one she has in her own pocket and says, "It's alright, I'm not gonna hurt you. Get your wand out and I'll teach you something."

Tentatively, Izzy draws the black stick out of her pocket and holds it up in front of herself. "There ya go," Yori says happily, "Now just hold it up to your cheek and say, _bania abrasia_." Because Izzy is so good at doing what she's told, because she's learned the hard way what happens when she doesn't, she follow his instructions exactly. A sharp sting in her cheek follows and when she brings her fingers back up, she gasps because the scrape is gone.

Her giant brown eyes grow larger in her skull and her mouth falls open as she lets out a startled shriek, throws the black stick at the opposite wall, and tears from the room. As she streaks blindly down the corridor, she can faintly hear a loud cry of, "HEY!! THAT'S MY WAND!! THAT GIRL'S THE ONE WHO STOLE MY WAND!! I TOLD YOU SO BILL!!"

She runs down the train, earning threats and curses from the kids she shoves roughly out of her way. She has no idea what she's trying to escape from but she knows that she has to keep running.

And then she sees the children waving sticks at each other, the bright flashes of light that come from nowhere, the frightening materialization of objects that hadn't been there before she blinked. Confusion and terror pulse through her as she runs, too scared and too weak to even try to wrap her mind around her the impossible things going on around her.

Eventually, there's no more train to run away through and she's looking down from the door of the very last car at the track as it unwinds behind the train. She's thinking of jumping to get away from this madness, from the hell her life has been since she was just two years old...

"What are you doing? Get away from there!!" Someone snarls as she's grabbed around the waist and pulled roughly away from the door. Isabel Cooper does not like people touching her, especially not when she's in the middle of a major freak out. If only Pamela Burton had known that, she may have avoided having her nose broken by the little girl.

"OW!!!! 'UCK!!!" The head girl screams just after a small fist connects with her face as she lets the girl wriggle free from her grasp and brings her hands up to her profusely bleeding nose.

Izzy runs back in the other direction, just happy to not have anyone touching her anymore. Unfortunately, she collides with a hard body. The girl falls to the ground and once again fades out of consciousness.


	3. Part 3: Remember

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Warning: this quiz contains a graphic description of the sexual abuse of a child. If you prefer not to read it, the beginning and end of the section will be marked "WMWMWMWMW." Thank you and enjoy.

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Part 3 - Remember

"She's been like this for a week, Severus," Headmaster Albus Dumbledore informs the Potions professor who's surveying with clinical detachment the small girl in the hospital cot.

"Normally I wouldn't ask you," Dumbledore continues lightly, "But in this case, I've run out of all other options. She won't speak, she won't eat, she's not a sibling of any of the students, and no one has reported her missing in either the wizard or muggle worlds."

Severus Snape stops near the foot of the cot, the girl's eyes never leaving him as she hugs herself tighter. Her dark amber curls hang around her face, and, if possible, she looks even more sickly and frail than she had when she first boarded the train. No matter how hard she has tried for the last week, she can not make herself wake up.

Honestly, she thinks herself rather stupid for even wanting to wake up from this dream. It's so nice here, she has food brought to her everyday (not that she eats it, but it smells heavenly, and it's always fresh and hot), the people always speak to her kindly, she's never hit, and she's even grown fond of the funny little elfish creatures who peer over the sides of her bed and are always asking what they can get her. But she misses Jordy.

She always misses Jordy, because Jordy went away and only Jordan was left, but Jordan is still her brother. She loves Jordan because if she loves Jordan, maybe Jordy will come back. She has to be there when Jordy comes back.

But she can't tell these people about that. Jordy told her never to tell anyone that he was the only one taking care of her. He said that they would take her away and they might never see each other again. Izzy refuses to risk it.

"Alright," The tall, sharp man in black states flatly, "I will do it. But I would like to reiterate that I do not think it's the right."

Izzy doesn't know what this man has just agreed to, but he's scary. He's old, and greasy, and he looks mean... He kinda reminds her of Uncle Richie. She can't really remember him, just knows that she always feels sick when she thinks about him and Jordy told her that he's dead and it's a good thing, but this tall, pale, thin, greasy man reminds her of that shadow from her past that never fails to make her tremble when it crosses her mind.

"Girl," The greasy, scary, hook-nosed man addresses her, "This is your last chance. Tell us where you're from, or we'll have to use other means of extracting that information from you." She hugs her knees tighter to her chest as her eyes go wide and she shrinks farther back against the cold metal of the headboard. She remains silent.

The greasy old man sneers at her as the white haired one with the little glasses, long beard, and kind smile looks at her sadly and sinks down into the cot beside her own. The old man tried to speak with her many times over the past week, and he seems nice, but she still does not trust him.

"Very well," The greasy man drawls, sounding slightly annoyed as he removes a black stick from the folds of his long, flowing black robes. Izzy can't take her eyes off it as he raises it high above his head and brings it down right at her with an indifferent cry of, "Legilimens."

_A man, the spitting image of her Jordy aside from the scruffy beard, holds a dark haired toddler in his arms. He rocks her softly and coos, "I love you. I love you, my little Isabel, and I'm always gonna love you. I promise." The baby girl hiccups and gurgles, "Purple!" in reply._

With a bright flash, she's back in the cot, gasping for air as she realizes what she just saw, '_My daddy! That was my daddy! He loved me! Jordy said he loved me, and he did! He still does! He promised!_' Whatever the greasy old man did, she liked it, wants him to do it again so she can see more wonderful visions of her daddy, and her mommy, and maybe even Jordy...

"Not helpful at all," The old hook-nosed man sneers, "But I suppose it does confirm that you first name is, indeed, Isabel. Did you tell the truth about your last name as well?" She's still gasping for breath, but manages a nod, figures it's the least she can do after the wonderful thing this man just did for her.

He looks proud of himself for that nod, and asks, "And that man, that was your father?" Izzy nods again. The man asks, "What is his name?" She bites her lip and whispers her first words in a week, "Daniel. My daddy's name was Daniel."

"And your mother's name?" He pries. She answers, a little louder this time, "Celeste. Jordy said it means 'heavenly.'" She's so very proud she remembered that. It's always seemed special to her.

"And who is Jordy?" He asks, and Izzy knows she's said too much. _Stupid! Just like Jordan says! I'm stupid and now they're going to make sure I never see Jordy again!_ She can't answer anymore, doesn't trust herself enough too, she just cries silently.

"Oh, come on now, we were making such progress. Tell me who Jordy is," He demands, sounding annoyed. When she says nothing, continues to cry silently, he sighs, "Very well. Legilimens."

_With his messy, chestnut-brown hair falling in his kind eyes, Jordy smiles at her before he turns and leaps from the from the top of a graffiti-ed brick wall to the roof of a tall building. It was a huge jump, Izzy gasps at her brother's daring. "JORDY!!" She screams, "Please!! Come down!! It's just a stupid ball!! I don't even like it!!"_

_He scrambles higher up the roof, calling down to her with a light-hearted chuckle, "It's your only toy, Iz, and I'm getting it back for you. Don't worry about me, I know what I'm doing."_

_Izzy prays as she watches him climb higher and higher, never stumbling once on the steep pitch as he travels toward a red rubber ball wedged up against the crumbling brick chimney poking from the worn shingles. It makes her dizzy and sick to her stomach just to witness. He grabs it and waves it at her, smiling triumphantly as he tosses it down with a playful command of, "Catch!"_

_She's more concerned with watching to make sure her brother doesn't hurt himself than she is with the ball, and she lets it hit the ground in front of her and bounce away._

_"Iz!" Jordy scolds playfully as he begins to clamber down, "I just climbed three stories for that thing, don't lose it now!" She rolls her eyes as she turns. Isabel doesn't care about that ball half as much as she cares about her brother, but he wants her to get it, and Jordy always knows best._

_She chases it as it rolls along the concrete, never taking her eyes off it as she keeps bending over to try and grab it, only to have it roll out of her fingertips every time. She giggles to herself over her own inability to catch a silly, red-rubber ball._

_"IZZY!! LOOK OUT!!" She glances up at Jordy, who's running toward her with panic all over his blanched face, freezing his pale green eyes on her. A horn blares, she turns toward it, realizes she's in the middle of the street, realizes a tanker truck is speeding toward her, realizes she is completely paralyzed, realizes she is going to die now._

_Her mouth falls open, and her body shakes. She closes her eyes, and hopes that Jordy won't be too sad without her._

_But then she's not dead, she's opening her eyes to find that she's safe on the sidewalk, wrapped in the familiar warmth of Jordy's arms. He kisses her face over and over again, not even minding that she flinches under his touch as he half yells, half cries, "Don't ever do that again!! God Izzy, I love you, don't you ever, ever do that again!! I don't know what I'd do if I lost you!! I love you, baby sister!! Don't you EVER scare me like that again!! Promise me you'll never leave me!! Ever!! If we don't have each other then we don't have anything!!"_

Another flash of white light and Izzy is trembling in the cot again. She remembers that day Jordy plucked her from the street. She was seven and he didn't let her out of his sight for nearly a year, not up until he started smoking the funny smelling cigarettes with his scary friends...

"Interesting," The greasy man's comment pulls her from her thoughts, "A brother. I'm assuming that Jordy is some sort of nickname, so what is his real name?" Izzy licks her dry lips, hating to speak his real name because in her mind Jordan Cooper is not the same person as her Jordy. The man rolls his eyes, "Fine then, but this is really getting tiring, girl. Legilimens."

_SLAP "DON'T TOUCH THAT!!!" And Izzy's on the floor, holding her cheek and staring up at Jordan, nothing but a blurry shadow beyond her tears._

_She picked up a syringe from the floor, didn't even know what it was, but apparently Jordan didn't want her to touch it._

_"I'm sorry, Jordy." She whimpers, feeling the tenderness on her face that she knows from experience will develop into a dark, angry bruise._

_All her air is gone a moment later when his boot meets her stomach, "I TOLD YOU NEVER TO CALL ME THAT!! MY NAME IS JORDAN!! DON'T CALL ME JORDY!!"_

_She cries as she gasps for air and holds her stomach, croaking softly, "I'm sorry."_

_"You're sorry, what?" He asks angrily as he places his foot on the side of her head and grinds her face into the ground. Isabel chokes, defeated, "I-I'm sorry... Jordan..."_

"Well," The greasy man drawls after the flash of light lands her back in the cot, tenderly rubbing his own stomach at the pain he felt along with the small girl, "That is not at all encouraging." She still doesn't know exactly what he's done to her, but she really doesn't like it anymore. She likes remembering Jordy, not Jordan.

"Does your brother hit you often?" The man asks somewhat kindly, probably, Izzy decides, as kind as he can force himself to be. She thinks she can see some flicker of caring in his beady gray eyes, but it's rather brief. She refuses to answer him.

He sighs, "Miss Cooper, we have to know what to do with you, and we cannot figure that out unless we know where your family is. Is your brother all your family? If he is then we need to know."

_'This is the part where they take me away and never let me see Jordy again,'_ she decides, _'I can't let that happen.'_ She remains silent.

"Very well," He drawls sadly, "Legilimens."

WMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

_"Stop struggling, my pretty little Isabel." He smells like peppermint and she can't see his face in the dark._

_"P-P-Please," She gasps as she feels his massive body press down on her tiny frail one, "It hurts. I don't want to."_

_He strokes her hair, almost lovingly, and insists, "You like our game. It's a special game for special girls." He's pinning down her wrists now, easily done with one of his hands, barely requiring any effort at all, using the free one to maneuver her pink and green Little Mermaid nightgown up to her stomach, and her white cotton underwear down to her knees._

_"It hurts!" He squeezes her wrists, the biting pain becoming secondary to the one she feels when he enters her, tearing into her soft flesh without ceremony. She shrieks and thrashes, but has nowhere to go. "OOOOWWW!! Please s-stop!!" She begs him, tears already cascading down her cheeks and soaking into the frilly pink and white pillow behind her head._

_He grunts and thrusts, completely indifferent to what he's doing to her small body. "You love me, don't you, my little Isabel? Ungh!" He asks, he always asks, mid-thrust._

_"Y-Y-Yes," She manages to gasp between sobs, "But it hurts so much. S-S-Stop!! PLEASE!!" More heavy breathing, more uncaring hips bruising her own, and he grunts, "This is how you show Uncle Richie that you love him. You and Jordy can't stay if you don't love me. Do you love me, Isabel?"_

_She's scared now. He only threatens when she's really made him mad. She tries to be brave and get through this, for Jordy, "I-I-I do. I promise. Please don't make us leave. I like the game. I-I-I do. It feels OOOWWWW... good. I like it. I'm sorry I said I didn't. I want OOOOH... to play more."_

_She thinks she can see him smiling in the dark, she knows he likes it when she begs, "Good. You're not going anywhere. You're mine, Isabel. You're special. Only special girls get to play the special, secret game. Say that you're mine, Isabel, that you're my good little girl."_

_She swallows down a lump in her throat, "I-I-I'm yours. I-I-I'm HICCUP your g-good little girl."_

_He lets out a loud moan, "That's right, my good little girl. My sweet little fuck, begging for this, my cock in your tight, hot cunt. Seducing me with those big brown eyes, wanting me tearing you open. Maybe if you're good I'll tear open your arse today, fuck your sweet little arsehole. You'd like that, you'd cry my name while I come far up your arse. Cry for me Isabel, cry for me to fuck you." No more words are spoken, only shallow grunts and moans._

_When he finally finishes with her, she can feel blood and fluids dripping down from between her legs, and she wants to close them, but they won't move. Before he leaves, he forces her to drink down a foul tasting liquid from a bottle he brings with him every time. The worst part is always how he coos, "I love you, my Isabel," before shutting the door behind himself._

_Alone, in the dark, feeling her body mend itself, all she can do is cry. Isabel doesn't get a lullaby to sing her to sleep, she gets only her own broken sobbing, the broken sobbing of a broken girl._

WMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

She's sobbing when the flash of light brings her back to the cot, crying, and hugging her knees as she remembers. Because she does remember now, how Uncle Richie smelled like peppermint, how he made sure to give her the room next to his own, how the doorknob sounded, a groaning squeak and then a click, as he invaded the chamber of pink walls and frilly white lace in the dead of the night, how he had made her hold his hand wherever they went, how she tried to hide whenever she saw him give Jordy money to go to the movies with his friends because she knew he would lead her by the hand to her room and hold her down and make her...

She vomits over the side of the bed. Her stomach was empty, but the revulsion she feels is strong enough to conjure it, sticky and warm and sour and now in her curls and on her cheek. This is why they left, why her vague memories of Uncle Richie have always made her feel hollow and afraid, why Jordy got furious whenever she him asked why... _'He knew...'_

"Oh god," She hears the greasy man groan just before she hears more vomiting. She opens her eyes and sees him leaning over a basin on the other side of the room, his body heaving violently.

"What is it, Severus?" The old, white-haired man asks, sounding concerned and grandfatherly, not that Izzy knows what a grandfather should sound like, never having had one, but she imagines it must be something like the old, white-haired man.

After a brief minute of the greasy man retching in the basin, he stands slowly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he turns.

He regards the small girl with actual tears in his eyes, and tangible pain oozing off him. He felt it, like he was there, the terror, the pain, the degradation. Severus Snape is by no means a kind man, but he would have to be a monster to not have his heart splitting in half in sympathy for the little girl's pain, _'empathy,'_ he thinks, because he feels it too. He feels unclean, and ashamed, and completely alone...

He doesn't know what to say, or do to make her pain go away. She's crying, her face lying in a puddle of her own vomit as she curls in on herself and sobs, the same sobbing from the vision, that broken, defeated, _aching_ sob. He is sorry for making her relive it, truly, truly sorry.

"How old are you?" For some reason, he thinks she might be more willing to answer questions now, even if it is only because she fears having to experience any more of her past. She chokes in reply, "Ten."

"And who takes care of you?" He asks as he waves his wand to remove the puddle of vomit from the girl's cot. She's still crying, "J- Jordy."

"Where are your parents?" He's fairly sure he knows the answer to that, and is not mistaken, "Dead."

There is no way in hell that he is going to ask about the uncle.

"Does your brother hit you often?" He's sitting beside her now, moving to smooth her hair back from her face in an effort to provide some comfort, but she flinches under his touch and he quickly pulls back because he instantly understands why. Lingering remnants of that vision have him hating the feel of touching another person just as much as she does. "Yes," She whispers, "B-But he doesn't mean to! Jordy loves me. Please, I just want to go home to Jordy. He's gonna be sad without me. Please, please, I want to go home." She cries harder. She just wants to get home to Jordy, no matter how nice this place is, she just wants her Jordy. Jordy will make everything better again.

xxXxx

The kindly matron ultimately has to sedate poor little Isabel, scolding Professor Snape all the while for getting her riled up so badly in the first place.

Snape is still shaking and he doesn't really give a damn about what that woman has to say. She doesn't know anything about what happened.

"What happened, Severus? What's wrong?" The headmaster asks kindly as Snape sinks down to the floor outside the hospital wing with his head in his hands. For a long moment, Snape doesn't respond, just tries to make his stomach stop churning, and the horrible emptiness inside his chest, and the searing pain between his legs go away.

Finally, he half screams, half sobs, "What's wrong? What's bloody wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong!! I just forced a ten-year-old rape victim to relive her attack!! That's what's wrong!! I told you this wasn't right!!"

Silence echoes throughout the hallway, and neither man knows how to handle the situation.

"What did you find out?" Dumbledore asks softly as he sinks down beside the potions professor who is still visibly trembling and green in the face. He sighs deeply, "From what I could gather, both her parents died when she was very small. She and her older brother were sent to live with an _uncle,_" He practically chokes on the word, "There was sexual abuse, long term. I don't know what happened after that, but they left him, and the brother was taking care of her. He seemed very attentive and loving for awhile, but then he started beating her. It looked like it was a few years back."

The headmaster remains quiet, and speculative. Snape adds, "We can't send her back to the brother. He's a junkie."

Dumbledore nods, "We should still tell him where she is. What is his name?" Snape sighs, "Jordan Cooper. I got that the _uncle's_ name is Richie, or Richard, I don't think they've lived with him for awhile though."

Dumbledore looks slightly startled, "I think I know those names..." Snape snorts, "You might. The _uncle_ was a wizard. Used to force healing potions down her throat after he..." He trails off and squeezes his eyes shut tighter as a new wave of nausea comes over him.

"Then it must be him..." Dumbledore states thoughtfully. After another moment of silence, he quietly elaborates, "About six years ago, the charred remains of a wizard by the name of Richard Wyatt, a former Hogwarts student actually, were found in the ruins of his home. Arson was the cause of the fire, but the cause of his death was the sixty-two stab wounds in his chest."

Instantly, Snape's head snaps up, and his sharp mind quickly puts two and two together. "Well," He states calmly, "If it is the same man, then good riddance. I hope he's burning in hell as we speak, and for all eternity after."

Dumbledore nods, "Indeed. It was quite a mystery. Especially when his niece and nephew, his sister's children I believe, could not be located. They have not been found to this day. I believe the niece was four, and the nephew fourteen at the time. Today, that would make the girl-"

"Ten," Snape cuts him off, "That would make the girl ten." He sighs heavily, and asks, "What do we do with her?"

The old man stares straight ahead of himself as he declares resolutely, "We enroll her."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There you have it. Reviews are appreciated my peoples!


	4. Part 4: Black Snowflakes Falling Up

Part 4 - Black Snowflakes Falling Up In the Summer

They only asked her two questions before it became official: "Can you read?" and "Can you do basic math?" Since the answer to both was yes, Cooper, Isabel Morgan, was added to the first year roster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Now, all that was left were supplies.

The same day that Professor Dumbledore sent out an owl to locate Jordan Cooper and inform him of his sister's whereabouts, one also arrived from an anonymous source, carrying with it a small, but substantial sum of money and a letter instructing it to be used for 'the education of destitute orphans.'

It didn't really take a genius to figure out where it came from, especially since two days after delving into Izzy's mind Severus Snape still couldn't keep food down, couldn't sleep without having vivid nightmares, and couldn't stand to be touched in any way. But his physical and psychological pain was nothing compared to the guilt he had to endure as he watched the skeletal ten-year-old with the dark eyes, much too large for her head, in his opinion, suffer through the same symptoms without the hope of temporariness he himself could find slight comfort in.

After a few more days in the hospital wing, inconsolable and still refusing to eat, Izzy suddenly sat up, and asked very politely if she might please have a glass of water and some crackers. The kindly matron practically tripped over herself summoning the house elves, who came bearing enough food to make an elephant sick. Izzy may have eaten barely any of it, but she ate, and that's the important thing.

Izzy decided that she didn't want to be sad anymore. Being sad isn't very nice, after all, and what would Jordy say if he saw her wasting away in some hospital bed, feeling sorry for herself when she could be trying her hardest to find her way back home to him? Besides, there will be plenty of time to cry once she finds her way home.

Of course, finding your way home is quite a bit easier when you know where you are in the first place, and Izzy still has no clue. Well, she sort of does, but she doesn't think that the name of this place could really be _Hogwarts_. It just sounds like a made up word, and she's sure that they must've been playing a trick.

When it is determined that she's strong enough, Madame Pomfrey allows Izzy to leave, and be escorted to Diagon Alley to gather the supplies she will need for her year at school. Outside the entrance, still in the baggy jeans and flannel that she arrived wearing, Dumbledore kindly introduces little Isabel to a very large, very sweet man.

"'Ello thar', lil' one," Hagrid smiles broadly down at the girl hiding shyly behind Dumbledore's billowy robes.

"Hi," She breathes quietly, slowly taking in the vast expanses of the Hogwarts grounds, searching for a possible clue to her exact whereabouts, and a possible escape route.

"I'm Hagrid," He tells her, smiling as he squats down in a useless attempt to bring himself down to her height, "What's yer name?"

She hesitates, looking between Hagrid and Dumbledore, searching for any sign of cruelty in their eyes. When she's reasonably satisfied that she's found none, she answers quietly, "Izzy."

"That's a very pretty name," He tells her plainly, keeping in mind to try not to scare the shaking little thing, remembering all of Dumbledore's instructions regarding looking after her for the day of shopping.

"I'm gonna bring ya to Diagon Alley today," He goes on, smiling, "Yer gonna get a wand, 'an uniforms, 'an books, 'an lots of other fun stuff fer yer school year. We're gonna 'ave a very nice day t'gether."

Izzy considers the big man with wide smile, and decides that he's nice. "Where's, um, _Diagon Alley?_" She asks tentatively. Scratching his bushy beard, and never letting the warm smile disappear from his face, he answers, "It's in a special part of London."

_"Home,"_ She thinks, _"Jordy."_

"Ok," She smiles sweetly, "Let's go."

xxXxx

"Whoa," She gasps an inexplicably short time later as she steps off onto Platform 9 3/4. She definitely doesn't remember being on anything that fast ever before in her life, and the scarlet steam engine certainly wasn't going that fast the last time she was on it. If she had more in her stomach, she thinks she might've been sick.

When she feels a large hand on her shoulder, the small girl flinches, and instinctively shrinks away from it. But when she looks for the culprit, she finds that it's only big, kindly Hagrid.

"Sorry," He tells her with a guilty, apologetic smile, "Fergot." She fiddles with the fraying edge of the large red flannel shirt, her eyes downcast as she shuffles her feet nervously and says, "That's ok."

"Well, come on then. Let's git goin!" He announces as he leads her toward a brick barrier. "Ya hafta run through," He instructs, smiling when her eyes go wide with fear and disbelief. "Don' worry," He tells her, "I'll go firs' an' show ya." She nods, and he takes off at a run toward the solid brick.

The second before she's about to yell for him to stop, he disappears through the barrier. After a moment or two of blank shock, Izzy remembers how she ended up on the platform with the red engine in the first place. Without another thought or reservation, she walks to the barrier.

It feels like normal brick as she runs her fingers lightly across it, but, with just a little increase in pressure, she watches, this time in fascination instead of horror, as her arm sinks in all the way up to her elbow. _Wicked,_ She thinks as she steps through.

And then, it's like she's come back to reality after a long stay in fantasyland. The familiar bustle of mid-morning in King's Cross Station is soothing, more soothing when she thinks just how close to home, and to Jordy, she is.

Hagrid smiles down at her, "Ready?" She nods, "Ya. I'm ready to go home." Confused, Hagrid blinks, and then she's gone, lost in a swell of bodies and baggage.

xxXxx

Even though it makes her light-headed, and a little sick to her stomach, she doesn't stop running until she reaches the corner of the street that her home should've been on.

As far as Izzy can tell, she's been away for a little over two weeks, and she urges herself forward with thoughts of how much Jordy had to have missed her, and how happy he'll be that she's back.

But when she reaches that corner, and the familiar battered roof isn't melding with the hazy soot of the sky in the distance, she stops.

She doesn't think she could've possibly gotten lost, _I know my way home better than just about anything,_ but, still, she checks the street signs just to be sure.

It's definitely the right street. _But then why can't I see home?_ She moves again, sprinting toward the building, much faster this time because she fears the worst. And that's what she finds.

A blackened crater, still smoldering and crackling beyond the bright yellow police tape, is all that is left of her home for the past four years of her life, the only home she can remember.

In a frenzied panic, she ducks under the tape, paying no attention to the ash and debris crunching under her feet as she sprints to the center of the lot and whips her head around. She doesn't understand, not at all.

What happened? Where's home? Where's Jordy? None of it makes any sense, no sense at all. _Buildings just don't disappear..._

Completely frustrated, she gives a blackened plank by her foot a hard kick, sending it hurtling across the lot, and losing her balance in the process. She falls, hard, onto her back, into the ash, causing little particles of it float up all around her from the force. _"...Black snowflakes falling up in the summer..."_ She observes in stolid silence, _"Ya, that's the whole world right now..."_

xxXxx

It's starting to get dark, and it's starting to get cold, and her flannel shirt is starting to feel like it's too thin to keep her chills away for much longer. The lingering smoke makes the air hazy, and she's inhaled too much of it. Her throat burns, her eyes itch, and her lungs feel dangerously tight. She still sits among the ashes, hugging her knees, and waiting for Jordy to come and find her. _"After all, even if the house is gone, he wouldn't just leave without me. He would never do that..."_

xxXxx

It's dark now, and it's cold, and the flannel is far too thin, and the smoke is still smothering the girl's little lungs. And Izzy is shivering in the ashes. Because Jordy is bound to come back eventually. _"He just has to..."_

xxXxx

It gets darker, it gets colder, and the flannel seems to get thinner. Izzy's body is continually overtaken by violent coughing fits, and there's still no sign of Jordy. Her face is completely black from lying in the ash, until a tear spills from the corner of her eye and tracks a white line down her cheek. _"Where are you, Jordy?..."_

xxXxx

In the morning, the sun doesn't come up. Everything gets less dark, but thick gray clouds block hope from the sky, and seem to work with the smoke and ash to smother the small girl who never managed to fall asleep as she sat the entire night on the desolate, scorched plane that used to be her home. She doesn't know what to do. So she just stays, and waits, struggling to breathe from heart ache and smoke.

xxXxx

And that's where Hagrid finds her. Another day is almost over when he spots the little shivering mound in the center of the burned-out lot. A homeless man he showed a picture of Izzy to recognized her as a girl he used to see coming and going from a building a few streets over.

And he told him about the fire, and about the man who set the fire, screaming, and sobbing, and raging as he called for his sister, and lit the rag in the beer-bottle filled with gasoline. The man told Hagrid in great detail how the man cursed everyone and everything, crying as he tossed the bottle and set the dilapidated building ablaze, laughing at the people he locked inside, a small gang of thugs that he deemed responsible for 'taking Izzy.' He told Hagrid how, after the last of the screams from inside died down, the man threw himself on the fire.

He said that the police carted away quite a few bodies, but there were survivors, and he didn't know for sure which group the man who set the fire ended up in.

Beams snap beneath Hagrid's feet as he steps over the yellow police tape, and walks slowly forward to deliver the news to the girl who he has a feeling isn't strong enough to handle it. _"But,"_ he thinks, _"she should know..."_

"Izzy?" He calls softly as he squats beside her, remembering this time not to try to lay hands on her, even as a comforting gesture. She brings her head off her knees, still struggling to breathe, still crying, and with one look at her ash-blackened, tear-streaked face, Hagrid knows he'll never be able to tell her about her brother. "Come on," He coos, "Let's git outta 'ere, and git ya cleaned up."

"No," She sobs, her voice small and raw and breathless, "I can't! He's coming to get me! He wouldn't just leave me!! Even Jordan wouldn't just leave me..." Her voice breaks as she lets her head fall back down on her knees. A fit of coughs has her gasping for air.

"Ya really love yer brother, doncha?" He asks as he takes a seat beside the little girl, not caring a lick about the filth he's setting himself into. "Uh... Huh..." She responds between sobs and coughs.

Hagrid remains quiet for a moment, and then goes on, "Well, I've never met 'im, but he 'as ta be a good man ter 'ave such a sweet lil' girl like you love 'im so much. 'An' if he 'as a brain in 'is head, he loves ya like crazy righ' back. I'm not sure where 'e went, but doncha think e'd want tha best fer ya, an' want ya ta be taken care of?"

Weakly, she nods, and Hagrid keeps going, "Yea. 'E wouldn't want ya sittin' 'ere cryin' over 'im, 'E'd want ya ta go ta school, an' get an education, an' make friends, an' be safe."

Izzy thinks about the man's words. Jordy had always regretted not being able to send her to school like a normal kid. He'd even taught her reading and writing himself for awhile, until he changed.

She makes a decision, bringing her head back up and startling Hagrid slightly with the shine from deep within the big, round pools of the most beautiful brown he's ever seen, like the bark on the trees outside his hut just after they've been rained on, a dark, wet, earthy amber.

"Can I leave him a note?" Izzy asks suddenly, her voice gravely as she wipes at her cheeks and eyes with the backs of her hands, only succeeding in smudging the black soot into a dull, pasty gray, "So he'll know where to find me, and that I looked for him, and waited?"

Hagrid smiles as he digs in the deep pockets of his ratty coat, "'Course. I think I 'ave some parchment 'ere somewhere... AH!" He hands over a small white scrap, and a ragged quill, and Izzy busily takes them and scratches a note in handwriting that is far too neat and elegant for such a young child.

As they leave, she tacks it to a small bit of a chimney that has managed to remain standing...

_Dear Jordy,  
Where did the house go? Are you ok?  
I looked for you and waited for you to come back, but I had to go.  
I'm going to a school called Hogwarts and everybody's real nice.  
When you get this come and find me please.  
I miss you.  
Love,  
Your sister,  
Izzy _

xxXxx

Scrubbing the soot from her small body is a short job, but Izzy stays in the shower for almost an hour anyways. The lock on the door works good, she checked it, and she can still hear Hagrid whistling from inside the inn room, so she's able to allow herself to relax, and enjoy the sensation of hot, clean water pouring over her. She can barely remember the last time she had a real shower, let alone a hot one.

A knock at the door makes her jump. "Izzy?" It's just Hagrid's voice, so she calms down a little as she calls back over the sound of the water, "Ya?"

"Jus' checkin' to make sure yer alright. I hafta go downstairs for a bit ta owl the school. I brought ya some pajamers, so I'll jus' leave 'em 'ere by the door. Alrigh'?" She slumps her shoulders and pushes some wet hair back from her face, battling her still tender throat in order to call back, "Ya. Ok. Thank you."

"No problem. Jus' holler if ya need anythin'," He replies, and she hears his footsteps retreat, and a door open and shut, and then she's all alone again.

Slowly, she climbs out of the shower, wrapping herself in an impossibly fluffy blue towel, and cautiously returning to the inn room. She smiles when she sees her pajamas, a green and blue striped button up shirt and pair of pants that look like they were meant for a boy.

_"A big boy,"_ She decides after she dresses and observes in the mirror how the cloth hangs off of her wiry body. But they're warm, and clean, and the colors make her happy, so she doesn't mind at all.

She isn't quite sure what to do with herself, and the room doesn't exactly provide many options. Two twin beds are against opposite walls, and a small couch and a table are off by the door. It doesn't exactly offer much in the way of amusement.

She settles for the couch, sorely tempted by the beds, but unsure of which one she should take so not taking either. She hugs her knees, and waits silently, feeling her curls come back to life as they dry.

When Hagrid returns, carrying a tray of much too much food, she's asleep on the couch, her legs pulled tightly into her chest, her head resting on her knees, and her bouncy amber curls covering her face. He smiles, setting down the tray that's meant for her on the small coffee table before attempting to move the girl to one of the beds.

But, as soon as he touches her she becomes nothing but a mass of shrieking, flailing limbs, struggling so hard to get away from him that she knocks herself roughly to the ground. Disoriented and scared, she doesn't stop scurrying away until her back hits the wall, and, when it does, she finally realizes who it was that woke her.

Hagrid has his hands held defensively in front of himself, looking guilty, and worried, and sad as he soothes softly, "I'm sorry. I jus' though' ya'd be comfier in the bed."

She nods and takes a deep breath, the first one since she woke, filling her lungs with a blast of warm oxygen as she tries to calm down and assure herself that this humungous, intimidating man isn't going to hurt her. _"It's ok. It's ok. It's ok. Everything's ok..."_

"Erm..." Hagrid interrupts cautiously as he kneels in front of her, wincing when he sees Izzy flinch, "I'm sorry. Are ya alright?" Again, she nods, still trying to shrink away from him despite knowing that this particular wall isn't going to allow her through it. And knowing that Hagrid means her no harm.

"Yer sure?" He presses, knowing clearly that she's not, _"and probably won' ever be..."_ But still, she nods, her eyes wide and frightened. It's all she can manage, even though she really wants to scream for him to get away from her.

"Alrigh'" He states warily, "Well, are ya hungry?" She shakes her head, and breathes a little easier when he moves away to grab a plate off the tray, offering it out to her as he says, "Oh, come on now. Ya mus' be hungry. Ya gotta eat. Yer such a skinny lil thing, yer gonna disappear if ya don't."

Again, she shakes her head, cowering and hugging herself as she wishes for his words to be true, wishes that she could just disappear.

Kicking himself, Hagrid finally concedes, "Well, alright. Ya cen just go ta bed then. Pick whichever one ya want." Without another word, in a desperate crawl of stick-thin limbs, she scurries away from him.

She's a virtual blur as she dives into the bed farthest from the door, throwing the blankets over her head and curling into a ball beneath them. She can hear Hagrid moving about, hears him get into his bed and click the light off. It's not until his breathing turns into window rattling snores does she dare poke her head out from her warm little cocoon.

It's dark, and scary, but Izzy is used to being scared during the night, and during the day as well, so it doesn't matter. She closes her eyes, because then she can pretend that the lights are on, and that Jordy is there, and her parents are, too. They're still alive when she closes her eyes.

And when she sleeps, she's not afraid anymore.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Woo. Home for the holidays. I don't know if that will be beneficial or detrimental to my writing, but we'll see. Cross your fingers and review please


	5. Part 5: Thief

Part 5 - Thief

"IZZY!! HEY IZZY!! OVER HERE!!" Is the first thing Isabel hears when she steps inside the front doors of Hogwarts, and it makes her cringe. Shopping was exhausting, the train ride back a bore, and now people are yelling at her, drawing attention to her. Her throat still hurts from inhaling all that smoke. Today is not a good day.

Izzy turns, in time to see a flash of neon orange hair just before she's being squeezed up in spindly arms. The poor girl struggles as violently as she can manage with her weak limbs, crying out softly, "Let go! Let go! Stop it!"

In an instant, she's free again, and finds herself staring into the very confused brown eyes (and shockingly orange hair) of Tonks, the girl she met on the train. Though she remembers Tonks with shorter purple hair, and then green pigtails, she knows its the same person. Izzy recognizes the school uniform the girl is wearing, she had to buy several second hand ones for herself, but the girl's one is slightly different. Aside from a bluish crest on the front pocket of her white blouse, she also has several patches that look to be from muggle bands, though Nirvana is the only one Izzy actually recognizes (Jordy used to play them sometimes). Also, her blue plaid skirt has swirls painted on it in silver and pink glitter. Underneath the skirt, the girl's thin legs are clad in black and purple polka dot leggings, which end at her ankles where the mismatched socks and flip flops she's wearing begin.

"Sorry," Tonks apologizes sadly, her small, round face looking guilt ridden, "I was just happy to see you. I thought that maybe you'd given up on school because of what happened on the train. I really didn't mean to scare you that bad."

Izzy lets out a shaky breath, hugging herself desperately, her emotions guarded and her face hidden behind a curtain of amber curls, "N-No. It wasn't that. I just... Um... It's hard to explain..."

The girl smiles, "Meh, I'm sure you'll find the words eventually, and we're friends now, so I'll be around when you do. Let me know, ya?" Izzy can't help the large grin that comes across her face as she nods. She's never had a friend before...

"Great!" Tonks exclaims happily, bouncing along towards the Great Hall, "You fancy some dinner then? I'm starved! Hey, what house are you in?"

Izzy shrugs, "I don't know. Hagrid told me that I was going to be, um, _sorted_ tonight. Where is the Great Hall? That's where I'm supposed to go, and I have to find Professor McGonogall."

"Great Hall is where we get food," Tonks explains brightly, still leading the way towards the location in question, "And I'll help you find ole Minerva. Man, not sorted yet, huh? I guess it makes sense since you've been in the hospital wing this whole time, but that's still weird. It's been like, what, two weeks since term started? How are you gonna make up all that work you missed?"

"I don't know," Izzy mutters softly, a little worried about the very same question. Tonks shrugs, "It's probably not that big of a deal. Maybe you'll get lucky, and the teachers will excuse you. What house are you hoping to get in? I made it into Ravenclaw. It's supposed to be the smart people house, but I don't like smart people. All everyone wants to do is study all the time. It's no fun. I like the Gryffindors, they're supposed to be the brave house so they're always up for anything, and even some of the Slytherins aren't bad, if you steer clear of the pure-blooded psychos. The Hufflepuffs are all pretty nice, but they're always afraid of getting in trouble, so they don't really like me that much. Minerva says I'm the first first-year she can ever remember having to give detention to at the welcoming feast. I started a food-fight. It was really great. There was treacle tart _everywhere_. And all the ghosts thought it was really hilarious since they could watch and not have to worry about getting dirty. The one, the poltergeist, Peeves, he said that it was brilliant, and he wanted to know if I would help him booby-trap some of the hallways. I'm still thinking about whether I should do it or not. I mean, it would be really funny, but I probably wouldn't get away with it since I almost never do. I don't know why- OUCH!"

Tonks walks into a suit of armor, finally giving Izzy a reprieve from her seemingly-endless chatter. The loud crash of the suit falling, as well as the jeers from the portraits fill her ears instead, and within seconds Tonks is trying to battle her way from beneath the large pile of polished steel.

"Fallen down _again_, Nymphie?" A teasing, but happy voice coos from the other side of the hall. Izzy turns and sees a girl with long, bone-straight brown hair hanging loosely from her head, and a mocking smile on her porcelain doll face. Her green eyes sparkle as she rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, seeming impatient for "Nymphie's" reply.

"Sod off, Margo," Tonks answers with a playful laugh, "You know they put them here just for me to run into."

"Sure," Comes Margo's reply as she helps Tonks unstick herself, "Because the whole world is conspiring against you. You're secretly being recorded at all times, and we have meetings where we play the records of it, and everyone laughs at you when you make an arse of yourself."

"Oh, _haha_," Tonks snipes with a slight grin as she gets to her feet. Once there, she gives Margo a slight smack on the arm, and the other girl smacks her right back.

Feeling slightly out of place, Izzy tries to slowly back away, but Tonks notices her again as soon as she moves, grabs her by the arm, and hauls her a few steps forward.

"Izzy, this is Margo Amos," Tonks informs brightly, "and, Margo, this is Izzy Cooper, she's my friend that I told you about from the train." The brunette's eyes get big, "The one who punched out the head girl?"

"The very same," Tonks announces, sounding almost proud as she hooks her arm around Izzy's neck, ignoring the small girl's desperate struggle to escape, "Funniest thing I've seen since that crazed squirrel went after my da's nuts. And that was pretty damn funny."

"_Wow..._" Margo gasps, looking at Izzy with pure awe, not that the girl notices since she's still fighting to make Tonks get off of her, "You totally broke her nose!"

"I did?" Izzy squeaks as she finally succeeds in her break away, "I didn't mean to. Is she ok?"

Tonks giggles as she starts walking in the direction of the Great Hall once again, "Oh, she's fine. Madame Pomfrey fixed her up as soon as we got back to the school. Of course, the way she tells it, she's scarred for life, in constant pain, gonna to make you pay, blah, blah, blah, and etc. Totally full of it, if you ask me."

"W-What was that last one?" Izzy squeaks frightfully. Margo snickers, "I wouldn't worry about it. Pam's in my house, and she is _all_ talk." Not feeling reassured, Izzy merely nods.

"Miss Cooper?" A strict voice inquires, making all three girls jump as they turn to investigate. Tonks smiles when she lays eyes on the middle-aged teacher with the deceivingly severe expression on her face, "Minerva! Don't sneak up like that! Are you trying to give us all heart attacks?"

Izzy, confused, resolves herself to silence, however, as soon as the woman gives Tonks a harsh glare, it doesn't matter, "Miss Cooper, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," She answers quietly, and the woman nods. "Good. Follow me," She instructs, turning, "And Misses Tonks, and Amos, run along to dinner now."

"Sure thing," Margo quips brightly, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. With an energetic wave as the both of them leave, Tonks adds, "See ya later, Izzy! Good luck with your sorting."

Without another word, they're gone, and Izzy is left to scurry along in the very serious woman's footsteps. It's rather hard to keep up, but, very shortly, she stops outside a large set of slightly open double doors. The loud raucous of the whole school gathered in one place can be heard from inside.

"Just one moment," The woman states, "The headmaster will call your name in a moment." Izzy nods, "Ok."

Not even ten seconds later, the loud chatter from inside the doors goes silent. After a brief pause, Izzy hears, "I am pleased to announce that we have one additional student to add to the first year class. She will be sorted now. Cooper, Isabel."

"Come along," The teacher instructs just before she places her hand on Izzy's back and pushes her lightly into the hall.

Izzy jumps like a frightened animal away from that hand, loses her balance in the process, and falls face first into the stone floor just inside the doors. Everyone laughs, or at least that's what it sounds like to Izzy as she tries to hold back tears of pain and embarrassment, and find the will to make herself get back up again. _"Maybe I should just stay down this time..."_ She thinks sadly.

But she doesn't stay down this time, nor would she stay down any other. As frightened as she might be, as absolutely terrified she is of life, Izzy Cooper is much too strong to ever stay down, not when she's already managed to pick herself up on so many other occasions. So she picks herself back up again.

Once she's on her feet, the laughter mostly dies down, though a lot of snickering is still going on. Izzy keeps her eyes on the floor, and hugs herself defensively.

"Are you ok?" A kind, slightly familiar voice asks. Izzy finds the courage to look up, and sees the tall redheaded boy from the train, Bill, she thinks his name was, standing over her. He's not the only one who got up from his seat to check on her well-being. The olive-skinned, curly-haired twins from the train, Mac and Myron, are also nearby, smiling kindly.

"Not broken, are ya, Toothpick?" Myron inquires as he jokingly brushes her off. She flinches, and he stops, but she still answers, "No, I'm ok."

"That's good," Mac adds, running his fingers through the closely-cropped, chocolate-colored curls stuck down against his skull as he smiles, "As long as you're ok, then just go on up." Bill nods, whispering conspiratorially, "Ya. Don't be afraid. It's nothing. I swear."

Sniffling, Izzy informs him calmly, "I'm not afraid," Because she's not, not of the sorting at least. The only thing that scares Izzy is other people, and these ones don't seem all that bad.

"I'll bet anyone ten galleons that thief makes it into Slytherin!" Someone suddenly shouts. The comment is followed by laughter and jeers, and Izzy's not so sure how nice these people are anymore. She pinpoints the source of the yell as the red-haired boy she saw on the train, Bill's little brother, Charlie. He has a smug, hateful smile on his face that makes Izzy turn away abruptly, feeling horribly guilty.

"Shut it," Bill commands dangerously, slapping the severely freckled boy upside the head as he trails behind Izzy on his journey back to his own seat a little farther down the Gryffindor table. Myron gives Charlie a whack as well, snapping, "Git," before he sits down next to Bill. Mac settles for a disappointed glare as he stalks back to the Ravenclaw table.

Of course, Izzy doesn't notice any of this exchange. She's almost all the way to the front of the room, and is trying desperately to ignore the whispers and laughter, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping her eyes down. _"Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Ri-"_

"Miss Cooper," The kind voice stops her just as an old stool appears in her vision. Slowly, she looks up into kind blue eyes sparkling behind half-moon glasses. The smile on the old man's face is crinkling his crow's feet, and that somehow makes her feel better, like he's been nice his entire life so there's no way he'd not be nice to her now, "Take a seat, please."

Izzy does as she's told, and her vision goes dark a few seconds later. Disoriented and slightly frightened, her mouth drops wide open a second later when she hears a voice speak to her, almost whispering in her ear, but more than that, maybe inside her head.

_'Next time, darling, please be on time for the sorting. I don't like being disturbed while I'm writing next year's song.'_

_"Err... I'm sorry?"_

_'Quite alright. You couldn't help it much. Anyways, I suppose we should get right into it.'_

_"Right into what?"_

_'The sorting, dear! The sorting! Let's see... hmmm... Interesting, very interesting. Tender-hearted, shy... too shy for Hufflepuff. You'd disappear there...'_

_"Huffle... what?"_

_'Most definitely not a Slytherin. I don't think you've got a cruel bone in your entire body. I can't find any ill intent, malice, or anger... which surprises me. With what you've endured, I would certainly understand any anger you might be harboring. But there seems to be none at all...'_

_"You... You can see that?"_

_'Indeed I can. It's horrible. No one should be put through anything like it, but you've handled it so well. You just need to stop letting it control your life.'_

_"Umm... I'll try?"_

_'That's all I can ask of you. Hmmm... Brilliant. You're a brilliant girl. Maybe one of the smartest I sorted in the last several years...'_

_"No, I'm not really. I'm nothing special..."_

_'Oh, but that shy thing, dear. You don't like to show off your intelligence, do you? Yes, I can see that. You wouldn't get along with the Ravenclaws then. Well, I think I know where to put you. You're fiercely loyal to the ones you love, and your hard life has made you strong, and brave.'_

_"You just said I was shy. I don't think you can be shy_ and _brave."_

_'Can too.'_

_"Can not."_

_'Can too.'_

_"Can not."_

_'Stubborn little thing. Just trust me, alright? I know what I'm doing.'_

_"I guess..."_

_"Excellent. So you'll be perfect in-"_

"GRYFFINDOR!!" The voice bellowing out the strange word makes Izzy jump, almost falling off the stool as her vision is restored and she scrambles down from the high perch. She barely catches a glimpse of an old hat being carried away before the sound of loud, rambunctious cheering draws her attention. Almost everyone at the table all the way at the left side of the hall, the one swathed in red and gold beneath the banner of the roaring lion, is on their feet, screaming, clapping, and hollering jubilantly for the house's newest member.

Izzy takes the hint, and scurries toward the table, her face burning from the attention as she tries to find a place to sit. She finally catches a glimpse of Myron jumping up and down on one of the benches at the very farthest end, waving his arms frantically over his head as he screams, "OY! TOOTHPICK! OVER HERE!" Izzy decides her best bet is with him and the redhead to his right, since they've both been so nice to her, and bolts towards them.

"Congratulations!" Bill beams as he makes space for the small girl to sit between him and his curly-haired friend, "Welcome to Gryffindor!" She smiles, almost imperceptibly, as she takes her seat, seeming like she's trying to shrink her body with the way she's hugging herself.

Myron grabs her plate and begins piling it high with massive portions of every dish he can reach, commenting, "Ya. Sure as hell surprised me. I figured you for a Hufflepuff. It's a good thing you're not though. It'd be awfully hard for me to fatten you up from across the hall." He plops the plate down in front of her, waggling his finger, and commanding with a goofy, mock-authoritative smile, "Go on and eat. They'll be no dessert for you until that plate is spotless, young lady." Bill arches at eyebrow at his friend, "You put a huge chunk of cake on top of the chicken." Myron answers seriously, "Ya, but it's _carrot_ cake. That counts as a vegetable."

"Don't mind him," Bill instructs with an exaggerated eye roll, "He's a little imbalanced. Anyways, I'm Bill, remember? Bill Weasley, from the train? And the one trying to make you sick off of sweets is Myron Wallace."

"And my twin is that guy who looks kinda like me, but less devastatingly handsome," Myron comments, still managing to sound almost serious, "Mac Wallace. He's in Ravenclaw." Izzy nods with understanding, "Ok."

"So, er," Bill goes on, trying to think of some way of making the frightened girl open up, "How've you been?" She replies meekly, "Fine, thank you."

"You aren't eating," Myron observes, sounding scandalized and just a bit whiny, "Why aren't you eating? Bill, she's not eating!" Not quite understanding his joking attitude, Izzy leans away, wide-eyed and frightened, "I-I'm sorry. I'm not hungry."

Myron, having somehow managed to stuff his mouth to the point where it can no longer close in the few seconds it took for her to answer, seems confused. "_No'_ hung'y?" He questions, spraying half-chewed food all across the table. Bill reaches across Izzy to punch him lightly, "Mind your manners, git! Izzy, you really should eat. Don't you want at least a piece of bread, or fruit, or something?"

She thinks about it for a few long moments. She is hungry, starving, actually, but she doesn't want to be fat, like Jordan always tells her she is. She wants to be pretty so he'll love her.

"No," She whispers, "I'm not hungry." Bill opens his mouth to protest, however he's cut off by a shrill voice behind him, "Why are you being nice to that _thief?_"

"Shut it, Charlie," Bill warns, really fed up with his little brother's stubbornness and cruelty. The boy just doesn't understand. Everyone else figured out that Izzy must've had a hard life, figured it out from the way she acts, from the way she was dressed when they first met her, from the bruises that were all over her body. Bill feels sympathy, because he thinks he understands why she steals. His mother once told him about people like her, people that do what they have to in order to survive against hardship he'll be blessed to never catch a glimpse of. Charlie doesn't feel sympathy at all. Charlie's still sore that she pick-pocketed him. He may be a normally nice boy, but he has a horrible, almost malicious temper, and he can hold a grudge like nobody's business.

"But she's just a stinking little thief!" The boy shrieks, his face flushing behind his many freckles as he balls his fists at his sides, "You can't be friends with a thief! She'll steal all your stuff! People like her are bad! She should be in Slytherin! Or in jail!"

"Stop being a jerk!" Myron hisses, getting to his feet and advancing on Charlie, "Just leave her alone."

"NO!" Charlie replies angrily, "Doesn't anybody but me _get it?_ SHE'S!! A!! _THIEF!!_"

"Stop, Charlie!" Bill snaps, "Or I'll tell Mum that you're picking on little girls!" Charlie opens his mouth to argue, but can't think of a reply that's not going to get him in trouble, so settles for a scowl before stomping off back to his seat.

Bill and Myron glare as they watch him go, and when they turn around they discover that Izzy is gone.

xxXxx

Izzy gets hopelessly lost within minutes of her escape from the Great Hall. As she wanders cautiously down a damp stone hallway, she decides that it probably wasn't a good idea to run away like she did, since she doesn't know where anything is in this school, but she just couldn't stay near Charlie any longer. He has every right to be mad at her, so she doesn't blame him for his words, but he makes her hate herself even more than she already does, and she doesn't like that.

"Where am I?" She muses softly to herself as she turns yet another darkened corner. When an answer seemingly comes from nowhere, she nearly jumps out of her skin, "You're in the dungeons."

A tall blonde girl with a sharp nose and thin lips steps out of the shadows, smirking wickedly as she advances on Izzy, "And here I thought paying you back for that sucker punch was going to be _hard_. That's what I get for underestimating the stupidity of ickle first years." Izzy keeps backing away, and the girl keeps coming, keeps smirking, keeps talking, "Do you remember me? From the train?"

Izzy emphatically shakes her head, terrified of the crazed look in the older girl's eyes. However, the girl gets closer, "That's funny, because I remember _you._ You punched me in the face. It hurt. _You broke my nose._"

Izzy's back hits a wall, and the girl's hands smack down on either side of her head a second later, trapping her there. A curtain of long, stringy blonde hair blocks off her view of the rest of the hallway, and she can see that the girl's eyes are a muddy brown. "I-I'm really sorry," Izzy squeaks in reply, "I didn't mean to hit you."

"Doesn't matter," The blonde hisses, wordlessly summoning a hot lick of green flame from the end of her wand and bringing it dangerously close to Izzy's face, "You still did, and you still have to _pay._" The heat is intense, and Izzy can feel it burning her already, even though there are still a few inches left before it actually hits her skin. She wants to struggle, or cry for help, but she can't, and she's not sure why.

"Miss Burton," A cold voice snaps, immediately making the blonde pull away, put out her wand, and hide it behind her back in one smooth motion. She smiles, "Yes, Professor Snape? What can I do for you this evening?"

"Well," The hook-nosed man drawls curtly as he steps further into the light, and into Izzy's vision, "You can refrain from attempting to _maim_ first years."

"Professor, that's not what-" The girl tries to argue, only to be cut off when Snape steps forward, his long cloak flows out behind him as he snaps strictly, "Save it, Miss Burton. We both know what you were about to do, and if you like your position as head girl, I would suggest not coming within ten feet of Miss Cooper for the remainder of the school year. I hardly think it is befitting of someone in your position to be torturing small children."

She opens her mouth to argue, but, again, he cuts her off impatiently, "Pamela Burton, if you do not leave right this instant, I will to it see that you are thrown out of school for what you have done tonight." That threat seems to have some effect, as the blonde practically trips over herself fleeing down the hallway. Once she's gone, Snape turns to Izzy, who's still cowering against the wall, and says kindly, "It's alright. She won't bother you anymore."

"T-Thank you," Izzy stutters in reply, still finding herself unable to move. This is the mean man, the one who made her remember all of the horrible things Uncle Richie did to her, and she doesn't want him to show her anything else. He seems to understand why she's afraid, and keeps his distance as he asks, "Are you lost?"

Weakly, she nods, and he says softly, "I'll find someone to show you to your House. Come with me." He turns on his heels, and Izzy follows, but reluctantly, and from a distance. She may not trust Snape, but she doesn't like being lost alone in this big, scary castle.

After what seems like an eternity of twists and darkened hallways, Snape leads the way into the potions classroom, and instructs, "Have a seat anywhere you like. I'll send for someone to walk you." Unsurprisingly, Izzy chooses a stool in the very back corner, the one that's closest to the door and farthest away from Snape. She sits on her perch, looking like a fragile figurine on a pedestal as she hugs her knees and watches the man's movements at the front of the room.

It doesn't take very long for Snape to page Yori Archer, the head boy. As much as he hates to admit such a thing of a member of his own house, Snape knows that Yori is a much nicer, and all around _better_ person than Pamela, and he knows that the kind boy would never harm a single hair on Izzy's head. And, more than anything, Snape just wants the little girl treated with all the kindness that's due to her.

Of course, once he sends the page, all there is for him to do is wait in awkward silence, but that won't due. He caused this girl an immense amount of pain. He knows because he can still feel her presence in his mind, he can still feel the hurt, and loss, and degradation, and fear, and he wants it to stop, for the both of them.

"Miss Cooper?" He begins softly, wincing in sympathy when she flinches at his words. Her answer is a soft, barely audible, "Yes, sir?"

"You are enrolled in my first year potions class, correct?" He inquires, even though he already knows that the answer is yes. At her slight nod he proceeds, "You have missed a great deal of work during the past week. Since we may be here awhile, I think it would be wise for you to use this time to start getting caught up." With a few flicks of his wand instructions are on the board, and equipment and ingredients materialize on the desk in front of Izzy. "Anything you do not understand," Snape continues, almost kindly, "You need only to ask me about, and I will explain."

She nods again, her eyes moving rapidly as she reads the neat white words scrawled across the massive black slate. The tension and fear in the room seem to melt away as she lets herself become completely immersed in cutting ingredients, and stirring her cauldron, and tending the flame. Snape can't help but let himself smile, because he's given her a reprieve from her pain, even if it's only for a little while.

xxXxx

Almost an hour later, Izzy has flawlessly completed a week's worth of work, and Snape is amazed. He just wanted to give her something to distract from how afraid she was to be alone with him, he didn't actually expect her to be able to do any of it correctly, skillfully maning three cauldrons at once. "Full marks," He tells her, once again unable to stop himself from smiling, "Excellent, Miss Cooper. I'll be expecting work of this caliber from you all year."

For once feeling good about herself, Izzy responds with a weak smile, "Of course, sir."

A second later, she jumps when a new voice calls into the room, "Professor?" Snape doesn't seem at all startled, and wipes the smile off his face as he turns to regard the boy in the doorway, "Ah, Mr. Archer, thank you. Would you please escort Miss Cooper to Gryffindor Tower?"

The handsome, dark-skinned boy smiles kindly, "Sure. No problem at all. I was going that way anyways. Just got off my rounds." Snape rolls his eyes, not even trying to hide how much he doesn't care as he replies, "Fascinating. You are dismissed." With that, he turns on his heels and stomps into his office, slamming the door shut behind himself.

With the Professor gone, Yori turns to Izzy and smiles, "Hello, remember me? From the train?" She nods, shyly, and he continues, "Great. Sorry that you got knocked out. It was kinda funny to see Pam get punched like that though, hehe."

Wide-eyed, Izzy doesn't quite no how to respond, and is thankful when Yori seems to realize it. "Er, ya, well," He chuckles uncomfortably, "Come on. I'll show you how to get to the Tower. Congratulations on making Gryffindor, by the way. Same house I'm in, and it really is the best of them all. Don't let anyone tell you any different."

"Ok," She says meekly, deliberately remaining a few steps behind Yori as he begins to lead her out of the dark and scary dungeons. The boy is confused by her behavior, but he catches on rather quickly that she is shy, and scared, and untrusting. It's sad, he thinks, because she's adorable and obviously quite bright if the way Snape was fawning over her work is any indication. Yori is an inquisitive boy (nosy, some might say), and is instantly curious about the little mystery at his side.

"So," He says, trying to make conversation, as well as investigate the girl, "What's your favorite color?" Izzy looks at him like he's mad, but he just grins widely, trying to let her know that he's serious. Reluctantly, she answers, "Purple."

"Cool," He replies, leading the way around yet another corner, "That's a good one. How about... oh, books! Do you like books?" She nods slightly, and ventures to tell him, "I liked _The Little Mermaid_. My brother used to read it to me..." Izzy thinks of Jordy, and it makes her heart hurt. She misses him more than anything, so much that she almost doesn't want to go on.

Yori smiles, "Oh, you've got a brother, huh? What's his name?" Trying to ignore the pain, she replies in a forlorn whisper, "Jordy." He thinks for a moment as he begins climbing the first of many staircases that will lead them to the Tower, "And he doesn't go here, does he?" Sniffling slightly, Izzy shakes her head.

"And you miss him," It's not really a question any longer, more like Yori reporting on what he has determined to be the cause of Izzy's sadness, the puzzle, at least partly, solved. She nods, and he tells her softly, "Ah, well that's ok. I miss my brothers and sisters all the time. You'll get used to it."

_"But I don't want to get used to missing Jordy,"_ She thinks to herself, _"I just want him to come back..."_

xxXxx

"Here we are!" Yori announces about fifteen rather uncomfortable minutes later as he and Izzy arrive at the portrait hole. Izzy is out of breath, and feeling a little woozy. Weak, malnourished little girls whose legs are barely long enough to make it between each step often do have a hard time with almost ten stories.

Doubled over and panting, she barely even notices her surroundings until she hears, "Hello, Yori, dear. Is this the new one that everyone's been talking about? Oh, she is simply _darling!_"

"Hello, Lady. Yes, this is the new first year. Her name is Izzy," Yori says, keeping one eye on the small girl by his side, lest she pass out again. After the fifth story, he saw how much trouble she was having and offered to carry her, but she turned him down rather emphatically and kept a far greater distance for the rest of the upward journey.

The Fat Lady eyes her, commenting, "Heavens, I think she's the smallest one of the entire year! And she is far too skinny! Haven't those house elves been feeding you children?"

Izzy, finally having caught her breath, stands up straight once again. She's gotten used to weird things happening, and barely bats an eye at the movement from within the painting, or the fact that the plump woman within it addresses her primly, "Child, you must eat more! Good nutrition is vital for health!"

Yori chuckles, "Don't worry, Lady. The way I heard it, Myron's made it his personal mission to fatten her up." Of course, this just causes the Fat Lady to puff indignantly, "Hmph. That boy..."

Yori chuckles to himself, beckoning for Izzy to step forward as he says, "Anyways, when you want to get in, all you've gotta do is give the password. This week it's _puffskein_."

The portrait swings open to reveal a darkened tunnel, and Yori nods toward it, "Go on." Very cautiously, Izzy does so, but she's feeling jumpy and uncertain, and having to walk through the darkness is unnerving. Thankfully, the tunnel is very short, and in just a few seconds she's arriving in the cozy Gryffindor common room.

It's a big, round room, with gray stone walls, lush red carpets, and a high ceiling. The gigantic fireplace next to the entrance is crackling and filling the place with warmth and soft light, making all the gold accents around the room seem like they're glowing. People are sprawled across numerous lush red couches and armchairs, doing homework and chattering happily. The whole atmosphere is comforting, and the low buzz of activity makes Izzy feel calm, like she's... home.

"The girls' staircase is that one," Yori says, making her jump because he's suddenly behind her, "First year dorms are only one flight up. I'd show you, but boys aren't allowed." With a nod to show that she understands, Izzy flees toward the stairs.

Of course, she barely gets one foot on the bottom step before she's grabbed up in a pair of strong arms and spun energetically around the room. In between struggling like mad and trying to keep herself from screaming, she hears, "TOOTHPICK!! There you are!! You didn't finish dinner!!"

"Myron, you dolt," Bill scolds as he runs across the room to save the poor girl from his overly enthusiastic friend. He'd have to be blind and deaf (or else just very, very stupid) to not be able to tell that little Izzy is on the verge of tears, "Put her down!"

"Huh?" Myron asks dumbly, distracted long enough for Izzy to fight her way away from him, landing on her butt when she falls from his arms. Myron, still completely clueless, just grins, "I was sayin' hi to Toothpick! I brought her some food!"

Unable to hold back a smirk, Bill rolls his eyes, "Ya, I noticed. Everyone noticed. That gigantic, dripping bulge under your robes wasn't anywhere near as sneaky as you thought it was."

"Really?" Myron inquires, sounding genuine. Bill blinks at his friend, once, twice, then lets out an exasperated groan as he grasps his forehead in his hand. Still, Myron just grins, rather pleased with himself for managing to annoy the normally painfully patient redhead.

"You alright?" Myron asks kindly, kneeling beside Izzy as he offers her a cookie, almost mockingly but with an underlying caring that's hard to miss. Though her butt is quite sore, she simply nods, then scrambles to her feet and begins backing away towards the staircase.

"Hey, where ya goin', Toothpick?" Myron questions, pouting slightly as he takes a bite of the cookie, "You haven't eaten anything!" Trembling and still backing away, Izzy replies, "I-I'm supposed to find my dorm."

"Go ahead," Bill tells her, delivering a hard smack to the back side of Myron's head, "We'll be here if you need anything, or if you just want to hang out. Ok?" Even though she's slightly wary of the two boys who are so nice to her without seeming to want anything in return, Izzy nods, "Ok." Then she turns and scrambles up the stairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There you have it. As always, reviews are much appreciated ;)


	6. Part 6: Just Not My Day

Part 6 - Just Not My Day...

"IZZY!! Get up! You're going to be late!"

"That won't work! You've got to poke her!"

"I don't want to poke her! She gets all freaked out!"

"Well, do something! She's going to miss breakfast!"

Isabel Cooper can sleep through just about any kind of noise there is. Annoying, loud, shrill, right-next-to-her-ears, none bothers her. It probably has something to do with having to sleep through the wild parties her brother and his friends used to throw.

Nevertheless, a simple tap will always send her bolting back into consciousness. After nearly four years at school together, her dorm mates know this.

"AHHHH!!" The petite fourteen-year-old shrieks, flailing about wildly and managing to get hopelessly tangled in her blankets as she falls out of her bed. Her slim body barely makes a sound as it hits the ground.

Breathing heavily, she whips her head around, trying to take in her surroundings. Despite having lived in the same room for the past three-and-a-half years, she still sometimes wakes up thinking she's in the old abandoned building, sleeping on the floor, her brother snoring close by. It's a comforting fantasy, but one she always emerges from feeling empty, and homesick.

"Sorry, Iz," A girl with a sweet, heart-shaped face and strawberry-blond pigtails coos kindly over the side of the bed, "But you slept through the alarm again, and Myron's getting pissy."

"Oh, thanks, Marie," Izzy replies, still trying to get her breathing even, "I-I'll be right down."

The girl, Marie Walters, smiles brightly at her friend, "Alright. Just don't be too long. I think he might've really hurt himself the last time he tried to climb up here when you were running late." She giggles at the memory of the curly-haired youth going arse-over-ears down the slide and landing on his head at the bottom.

"Ah, he wasn't hurt," Another girl comments as she takes the opportunity to come running across the room and hurl herself onto Izzy's bed, nearly making the mattress slide off the frame, "Not seriously, anyways." With a laugh, Daisy Hailen flips the assorted braids in her short black hair out of her caramel-colored face and adds, "And it was pretty hilarious to watch him fall like that."

Breaking into a small grin despite her best efforts not to laugh at her friend's misfortune, Izzy slowly untangles herself from the heavy red blankets and gets to her feet, "Go ahead without me. Just tell him I'll be right down."

"Sure thing," Marie chimes, grabbing Daisy off the bed and dragging her out of the room. Daisy laughs, yelling back, "Oh, and Lark wanted to know, are you still on to help us study for Transfiguration later tonight?" Smiling over her shoulder as she makes her way into the bathroom, Izzy answers, "Of course. Tell her she might have a better chance of learning something this time if she actually _brings_ her book."

xxXxx

Four years at Hogwarts have done wonders for Isabel Cooper. She rediscovers this every morning when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Even though she's still extremely skinny and small for her age (a fact that is exacerbated by the fact that she's a much younger than all her year mates), she's definitely in better shape than she was when she first arrived at the school.

Though her ribs and hip bones jut sharply from her body, she's no longer quite as skeletal as she was, something she attributes solely to Myron Wallace. That boy is stubborn as all hell, and has been eating every single meal of the school year with her since that very first dinner she ran out of. She knows that if it hadn't been for him insistently prodding her about her eating habits, practically forcing food down her throat on more than one occasion, that she would have most definitely remained in the same destructive pattern she was in.

Frequent eating and the beginnings of puberty have given her a long, lanky body, and soft curves on her hips and chest, even though she tries desperately to hide both beneath her baggy school robes.

Her wild amber curls haven't been cut in ages, and when they're left loose reach to just below the soft curve where her spine becomes her bum. Most days, she pulls them into an easy to manage braid. She's gotten quite good at it, and her dorm mates often ask her to plait their hair for them. She is more than happy to oblige because they are her friends. She has lots of friends, and no one was more surprised than her about that.

Yes, Izzy is mostly content with her life, her big brown eyes almost never fail to sparkle with happiness from her round, sun-kissed face. But, as far as she's come from the emaciated, terrified thing she once was, a lot about her is still the same.

She's still unbearably shy around people she doesn't know. Making friends was a very long process, and didn't just happen overnight. In fact, it was almost the end of her second year before she felt really comfortable talking to anyone.

She still can't bear to be touched, an eccentricity that all her friends have come to accept, and, more importantly, respect. The fleeting, accidental, sorry-Iz-just-forgot touches ceased a very long time ago, and she is grateful for that. No one knows why she is the way she is, since she hasn't told a soul anything about her past. As much as she knows that she should try to get over what happened to her, she just _can't._

Sometimes, she has nightmares, terrifying memories of hands all over her, of sickly peppermint breath choking her senses, of stabbing pains between her legs, making her feel like her body is tearing in half and fire is shooting through her spine while a gruff voice whispers obscenities that could almost be tender and loving...

"IZ!!" Pounding on the door makes her shake herself out of her thoughts. "Coming!" She calls sweetly, finishing off the braid in her hair with a pretty red ribbon. She gives herself one final look in the mirror, smiling brightly when it remarks, "Lovely, sweetheart, as always."

"Thank you very much," She replies with a slight, disbelieving blush before concealing her slender body in an over-sized robe, and skittering out of the bathroom.

xxXxx

Yori Archer, a former Hogwarts head boy, is halfway through his first year as a professor at the school. He is a fantastic Charms teacher, and his class happens to be almost everyone's favorite. He really, really loves his job.

"Amos, Margo," He reads from the roll sheet, lifting his head just in time to see the tall brunette in the back of the room throw her hand into the air and shout energetically, "HERE! RIGHT HERE!"

He chuckles, commenting with a sideways smirk, "Been swiping espresso off the staff table again, eh, Margo?" The Slytherin's green eyes sparkle with mischief, and she tries not to twitch in her seat as she innocently replies, "Why, of course not, Professor. Whatever gave you that idea?" Slight snickers come from throughout the room, and Yori laughs, shaking his head as he goes back to checking his attendance.

"Beckett, Geneva," He announces. After a brief pause, a prim looking girl with short auburn hair and too much make up on delicately raises her hand, calling, "Present." He gives the girl a curt nod. She's a pure-blood, and a Slytherin, and it's best to just humor her formalities.

"Catton, Anatole," Yori continues, not even skipping a beat when he looks up and discovers the blonde boy already asleep at the back of the room, his head on the desk, his mouth wide open, and a puddle of drool forming on the tabletop. The young man is a genius, and will probably never have any trouble in school no matter how many classes he sleeps through, but it's the principle of the matter. With an aggravated groan, Yori commands, "Somebody wake him up. Margo, you can give him some of your coffee, ya?"

She giggles evilly at the Ravenclaw seated next to her, a million fun ideas for 'waking' the boy already running through her head, "Sure thing." With a smirk, Yori goes back to the attendance sheet, pretending not to hear the hysterical snickers at the back of the room while Margo goes to work, _'Maybe this will teach him to stop sleeping in my class...'_

"Cooper, Isabel," He says, not bothering to look and expecting Izzy's usual shy 'here.' But, after a few seconds, when he hears nothing, he picks his head up, and gazes around the room. The petite girl is nowhere to be seen, and that is definitely not like her. "Izzy?" He calls again, thinking that maybe she's hiding behind another student. Still nothing, and he asks the class, "Has anyone seen Izzy?"

"The little brat's probably out planning a jewel heist," Charlie Weasley teases loudly from his seat in the front row. He never has forgiven Izzy for stealing his wand, and takes every available opportunity to berate the poor girl. Immediately, Daisy kicks him in the back, making him yelp as he spins in his seat to glare venomously at her. She grins mockingly, and answers with a one-finger salute.

"None of that," Yori scolds, still unable to keep from smiling and winking at Daisy. His duty as the teacher is to reprimand her for her actions, but he secretly thinks Charlie rather had that coming.

After he marks Izzy absent, something he is reluctant to do since her attendance has been utterly perfect since she first started at school, he continues down his list, "Deacon, Elias."

"Right here, sir," The small brunette Hufflepuff chimes brightly, waving his hand over his head. Yori smiles at his enthusiasm.

"Eyret, Cale," He continues, rolling his eyes when he hears a blunt reply of, "Yeah." Yori looks up, glaring when he sees Cale lounging lazily at the back of the room, his feet propped up on the empty desk beside him. The boy doesn't even seem to notice, his arms folded behind his head of shortly cropped blonde hair while he stares off into space. It's a well-known fact that he's a moody boy who is almost perpetually out of sorts, possessing the worst attitude in his whole year, maybe even the entire school. His personality is not exactly surprising, considering that he's a Slytherin, but it's still quite irritating.

"What's wrong with you?" Yori scolds, "Put your feet down, Cale. This is a classroom." Grumbling under his breath, the blonde does as he's told, but definitely not willingly.

Satisfied, Yori continues, "Hailen, Daisy. Already saw you." He pauses to grin at the odd girl seated behind Charlie Weasley, and then girl grins right back, giving a slightly sarcastic thumbs-up. He notes with amusement that her hair-do is lopsided, her neon makeup is standing out starkly from her dark skin, her nose, lip, and eyebrow piercings are glinting in the light, and her strange arm warmers are mismatched, one rainbow striped, and the other sporting black and white polka dots. He chuckles, as it's fairly typical for her.

The next name is "Harper, Virgil," and the hazel-eyed Gryffindor seated in the front corner desk, nearest to the door, answers, "Here." The boy then leans across the empty desk that separates him from Charlie Weasley, pushing his dark hair out of his face as he whispers something to his redheaded friend, presumably asking where the third member of their group is.

"Jabir, Ahmad," The professor reads, just in time for the dark skinned boy in question to rush into the room late, tripping over his too-big feet with a loud, "OUCH!" that Yori takes as his affirmation of attendance. Struggling to keep his books inside a satchel that's splitting at the seams (for the fourth time this year), Ahmad takes a seat in the front row between his friends Charlie and Virgil, high-fiving both of his fellow Gryffindors, and Professor Archer, quite used to the behavior by now, continues down the list.

"Lycoris, Logan," He reads, barely pausing for the brainy, black-haired, green-eyed Ravenclaw boy in the front row to answer, "Present," before he goes on, "Murphy, Timothy." Timmy Murphy, a Hufflepuff boy with shaggy, sand-colored hair, and green-blue eyes, calls shyly from his seat towards the middle of the rows of desks, "Here."

"Nolan, Lark," Yori continues, pacing slightly at the front of his classroom as he checks off the names. A tall girl with bright blue eyes and long, straight black hair waves her hand in the air as she answers happily, "Here, Professor!" He smiles at the bubbly Gryffindor. She may be a complete and total ditz, but she's a sweetheart. He shakes his head, and continues down the list, "Peregrine, October."

"_Toby,_" The young Hufflepuff boy with the hawk-like face corrects quietly, his cheeks burning bright red. Yori takes in his hunched shoulders, shaggy black hair that glows almost purple in the light, and his nervous purple eyes. He knows how much courage it must've taken for the normally silent boy to correct him like that. Toby's name is a touchy subject, having been saddled with it by a hippie mother who refuses to call him by his chosen nickname (his full name being October Rain Peregrine).

"I know, Toby," Yori assures him, "Just reading off the list. Don't worry about it." The boy nods, his cheeks getting even redder as he shrinks down into his seat, trying to fade out of sight.

"Roman, Nero," Yori continues, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice and off his features, especially when the coffee-haired Slytherin answers cheekily, "Don't worry everyone, after much deliberation, I _have_ decided to grace you all with my presence on this fine afternoon. Rest easy, and bask in my superhuman aura."

The class laughs, and not even Yori can keep himself from smirking slightly. Nero may be annoying and hyperactive, but he is funny. "That's enough, Roman," Professor Archer warns, locking his eyes on the boy's dark blue ones, trying not to laugh when the boy crosses them and sticks out his tongue, "A simple 'here' will suffice." Nero grins, coolly running a hand through his messy brown hair as he responds, "Noted."

Still chuckling and shaking his head over the antics of his students, Yori goes back to taking attendance, "Tien, Trinh." A heavily accented voice from the back of the room calls, "Here!" Yori pauses to smile at the kind Hufflepuff. She transferred from Vietnam towards the end of last year, and the small girl has been quite a handful ever since. In fact, her hair is still a strange bluish-green from an explosion in the potions lab that she caused. Yori (and most of the other teachers, too, for that matter) has the sneaking suspicion that she caused it on purpose, specifically for the hair...

"Tonks, Nym-" "HERE!!!" Tonks hurriedly and quite short-temperedly interrupts the saying of her first name, as she always does, and some sporadic snickers start up throughout the room. Yori smirks, noting that today the Ravenclaw metamorphamagus is sporting messy, neon orange spikes on the top of her head. "Fine, Tonks," He concedes, "Calm down." Tonks, ever the cheeky little brat, playfully sticks her tongue out at him, much to the amusement of all.

"Walters, Marie," He goes on, trying to rush through the last few names. The vivacious Gryffindor with the strawberry blonde pigtails and clear blue eyes answers brightly, "Here."

"Weasley, Charles. You already made your presence _quite_ known," Yori continues, checking off the sulking redhead from his list before going on, "And, last but not least, York, Julian." He waits patiently for the dotty brunette in the back corner to receive a kick from Margo, knocking him out of his daydreaming with a confused, "Huh?"

"I'll take that as a 'here,'" Yori comments with a smirk, adding quietly to himself, "_Physically_ anyways..." The Hufflepuff barely bats an eye before he goes back to staring at a crack in the stone floor.

"Alright then," Yori says, smiling at his class, "Now that that's out of the way, I suppose we'd better get down to business. Today's lesson is shield charms..."

Just as he's about to launch into his planned lecture, the classroom door opens and Izzy Cooper comes flying in. The girl is still a stick, though granted a much healthier looking stick than when he first met her, and she's struggling frantically beneath her overstuffed satchel and the five or so gigantic texts she's carrying in her spindly arms. She's incredibly brilliant, and a dedicated student, and it's not surprising for anyone to see her weighed down by the thick tomes.

"Sorry, Professor," She pants softly, jogging up to him and handing over a scrap of paper with neat script writing scrawled across it, "My veritaserum had to be bottled or else it would have congealed. I have a note."

"Veritaserum?" Yori questions, sounding impressed as he takes the paper from the little fourth year, reading Snape's account of the very same thing Izzy just told him, "That's a sixth year potion, Iz. What are you doing making that?"

She smiles shyly, tucking back a sun-bleached curl that's fought its way out of her neat braid as she explains very quietly, but still unable to hide her pride and excitement, "Well, I finished everything in the fifth year book last month, so Professor Snape wanted to see if I could be moved up another class. He told me to start with the veritaserum, and, since I was able to do that, I get to join the sixth year class tomorrow. We're starting on the Draught of the Living Death!"

Yori smiles proudly. Any other student with the girl's talent Snape would have merely ignored, and let remain unchallenged in their year appropriate class, but not Izzy. Yori has yet to figure out why the shrewd potion's master has taken such a shine to young Miss Cooper, but he's thankful to know that it's one more class in which she doesn't get picked on.

"You're an amazing little thing," He tells her honestly, "Go on then, take your seat." Trying not to blush, she does just that, deftly avoiding the foot Charlie Weasley always sticks out in an attempt to trip her as she goes for the only open seat in the room, at the very back, right next to Cale Eyret.

Yori's just about to scold the blonde boy for putting his feet back up on the desk, but finds that isn't necessary. As soon as he notices Izzy coming towards him, he moves his feet all on his own. A slight blush creeps over his normally aloof features as he watches her sit. Izzy smiles kindly at him, and he immediately looks away, seeming very embarrassed and uncomfortable. Yori smirks knowingly to himself.

"Ok, so, as I was saying," He announces, gathering the class' attention back to him, "Today's lesson is shield charms. The incantation is _protego._ Pair up, and we'll give it a whirl, eh?"

The students immediately shuffle about, and fairly soon they're diligently (for the most part) attempting to block spells from their partners. There are the occasional exceptions, of course, such as Nero and Geneva, the Slytherin power couple, making eyes at each other in the back corner, Tonks, Daisy, Trinh, and Margo, the gurus of fashion, gabbing on about hair, and Lark and Elias, both their respective teams' keepers, bickering about quidditch.

But, Yori notes with pleasure as he leans against his desk, there is at least one student who is trying very hard to get the charm to work right, despite the fact that her partner is making her very uncomfortable.

"Cale, um..." Izzy says, trying to get the boy to stop staring and cast a spell for her to block. Her cheeks turn red as his intense brown eyes seem to bore right through her heavy winter clothing, "W-We should get started." The blonde boy nods distractedly and pulls out his wand.

About ten minutes of Izzy performing the charm perfectly and Cale trying desperately and failing to do the same, he gets frustrated and flops back into his seat. "I can't do it," He grumbles, putting his head down as he wallows in self-pity. He's not exactly smart and has always had a difficult time in class. Some time ago, he just stopped trying. Kindly, Izzy sits down beside him, cooing, "Come on, Cale. It's a hard charm. I'm sure you'll get it if you just keep trying. And I... I'll help you." The boy looks up, grinning hopefully, "Really?"

"Of course," She responds, smiling brightly, making his heart skip a beat. Cale has had a crush on Izzy for as long as he can remember. She's so nice, and smart, and pretty, but he's always been too shy to even talk to her. Besides, they're in different, notoriously feuding houses, and he rarely has any reason at all to interact with her. This opportunity is like a dream come true. He can feel his cheeks flushing as he stutters, "T-Thanks."

She smiles, blushing as well, "No big deal. Get up, and I'll show you the right arm motion. I think your problem is you're keeping your wrist too stiff on the follow-through." Izzy stands, mechanically demonstrating the proper motion. She's rewarded with a bright, transparent blue shield streaming from her wand and into place in front of her. She smiles, proud of herself for doing it right. She likes being able to do things right.

She doesn't even notice Cale step up behind her, severely infringing on her personal space. It's not until it's too late does she feel him reaching around her body, closing his hand over her wrist as he asks nervously, "So, I just have to keep my wrist loose? Like yours?"

She's so startled that she shrieks and jumps away from him, unfortunately right into her own charm, which deflects her perfectly. The girl is bounced across the room like a rag doll, colliding hard with Charlie Weasley's back. Both go toppling into a desk, upsetting it as they roll in a kicking, screaming ball of flailing limbs.

"GET OFF ME, YOU BLOODY STUPID COW!!" Charlie shouts, bucking beneath Izzy's slight body while she desperately attempts to squirm away from him. She's severely hindered by her spinning vision and an intense pain in her ribs, not to mention that she's having a slight episode from the feel of another person touching her. "Sorry!" She squeaks, trying to untangle herself from the angry boy and not have an emotional meltdown at the same time.

"Break it up!" Yori commands as he rushes to pull his students apart. Knowing not to touch Izzy, he grabs Charlie by the scuff of his neck and yanks the boy out from under her.

When he's got the hot-tempered Weasley finally calmed down, he turns to see about Izzy. Unfortunately, he finds that she's still on the ground, her expression pained as she clutches at her ribs.

"Are you alright?" He asks softly as he kneels down in front of her. Startled by his voice being so close, she immediately whips her head up, backing away as she wills herself not to cry.

"I'm fi-Ine," She replies, her voice breaking halfway through the lie. If the grotesque snap she felt when she collided with Charlie and the difficulty she is having with breathing are any indication, she is most definitely _not_ fine, but she doesn't want to make a fuss, and she _especially_ doesn't want to be sent to the nurse.

"I think you should go check with Pomfrey," Professor Archer instructs, waving towards the frozen, guilt-stricken blonde in the back as he instructs, "Cale, grab her things and walk her over. I'll write you a pass."

With a wide-eyed nod, he does as he's told, keeping his head down as he walks to the front of the room under venomous glares from Izzy's friends. He could really care less about what they think, but what hurts him the most is that the scared, injured girl won't take the hand he offers to help her stand.

xxXxx

"I'm really sorry," Cale grumbles after seeing Izzy to the hospital wing. She's seated on the cot farthest from the door, waiting patiently despite the obvious pain she's in for Madame Pomfrey to get around to seeing her.

The girl smiles with watery eyes, still cradling her hurt ribs as she says weakly, "Don't worry. It wasn't your fault. I'm the one who jumped into the charm, after all."

Unconvinced, Cale places her bag onto the floor, neatly arranging her stack of books on the table beside the cot as he mumbles, "You don't have to lie."

The two sit in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, each feeling horrible about the pain they inadvertently caused the other. Finally, Izzy says softly, "It was an accident. I just... you startled me. You couldn't have known that's how I was going to react, but now you do, so next time we're partners it won't happen."

Surprised, Cale can't help it when he yelps, "You still want to be partners with me?" Izzy laughs, a bright smile lighting up her whole face before a throb of protest from her ribs replaces it with a look of pain as she replies, "Of course. I did promise to help you with the shield charm."

Cale is grinning like a madman, and blushing because of it. "That sounds great," He manages to get out, fidgeting nervously as he backs away, elated, but wanting to get out of there before he screws anything up, "So, um, I'll see you, Iz. Hope you feel better!" The boy flees, leaving Izzy to wonder about his strange behavior.

Shortly after he's gone, Madame Pomfrey turns up at Izzy's side. "What seems to be the problem, dearie?" She questions kindly, prodding the girl to lie back as she paws at her heavy robes, "Let's have a look."

Izzy flinches, pulling away from the touch as she stutters, "No! Um, can't you just, uh, give me a potion, or something?" The annoyed matron rolls her eyes, "Not until I know what's wrong with you. Come on, you've got nothing to be frightened of. I'm a nurse."

"I just broke some ribs," Izzy insists, still squirming away every time the woman attempts to examine her, even though it's extremely painful to do so, "That's all, so I just need to you to mend the bones, and I'll be fine. You don't need to look or touch me."

The woman huffs, quickly growing impatient, "I am overworked, and underappreciated, and definitely don't need little girls with silly phobias about doctors making my job any more difficult. Please, lie back, lift your robes, and let me examine you."

Shaking uncontrollably, Izzy very slowly complies, hating how vulnerable and exposed she feels as the woman delicately runs her hands on the tender bruise adorning her right side. She bites her lip to keep from crying out the 'no,' 'stop,' 'please,' 'I don't want to' that she keeps screaming in her mind as demons from her past dance close to the surface, threatening to break through the dam she's carefully constructed and maintained since she found out what Uncle Richie did to her.

But then it's over. The woman stops touching her, and she's barely even listening as the nurse rattles off the treatments being prescribed. Izzy is so happy that she's no longer being touched that she doesn't put up any fight at all as a foul tasting potion is shoved down her throat and she drifts off into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

xxXxx

Later, Izzy drifts back into reality to a playful chime of, "Toooooothpiiiiick... Wakie, wakie..."

She smiles. There's only one person who calls her Toothpick, and that person is, "Myron?"

"At your service," He remarks, grinning as he sits down in the large space Izzy's small body has left unused in the cot, "Pomfrey said you could go, and you get to tell me all about what you learned today. I have a feeling it's going to go something like, 'Avoid jumping into own charms.'"

Izzy giggles, noting that her side only aches a little when she does so. Very happy that she's healed, the girl opens her eyes and sits up, beaming at her friend, "Oh, don't tease, My. It was an accident. I can really go?"

The curly-haired sixth year with the lopsided smile gets to his feet, making the tall lankiness he's grown to incredibly apparently as he scoops up Izzy's bag, and reports brightly, "Yup. I bugged the doc so that I could take you to lunch. Silly girl, thought broken bones were gonna get you off the hook."

"I should've known better," She jokes, standing and taking her things from Myron as she lets him lead her out. Myron Wallace has a very odd appearance. His own twin brother, Mac, once remarked that it was similar to that of a clown. Izzy remembers how she giggled as he listed off the obvious features: frizzy, stand-on-end curls, gigantic, goofy smile perpetually on his face, jaunty bounce in his step, and the impression that he's always three seconds away from throwing a pie...

"Damn right!" He declares loudly, bounding happily out the door. Izzy snickers helplessly into her hand as she trails after him towards the Great Hall.

xxXxx

"Darn..." Izzy curses softly, rummaging through her satchel for her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, a three foot long essay on banshees that she spent hours on. She knows she did the assignment, but can't seem to locate it, and she has the class next after lunch, _"Today is just **not** my day..."_

"What's wrong?" Bill Weasley, seated to her left, asks in between bites of his sandwich, "Ribs bothering you?" From the other side of the table, with his mouth full of mince meat pie, Myron commands, "You should go back to the hospital and lie down after lunch. You got thrown across the room, so take it easy for a few days."

"No, no," She dismisses with a wave of her hand as she gathers her things and gets up, "It's not that. I think I might've left my homework in the tower. I just have to go run and get it."

"Hurry, Toothpick!" Myron shouts after her, "You don't have much time before class, and you barely ate anything!!" With a quick nod over her shoulder, the little girl tears from the room.

Unfortunately, she gets rather sidetracked on her way to locating her homework. Logan Lycoris stops her on the staircase between the first and second floors to ask he if he can borrow her History of Magic notes, and then follows her all the way to the third floor, prodding and poking (metaphorically, of course) until she promises to explain them fully to him after dinner. She doesn't really want to; the Ravenclaw is a snob, and a bit of a know-it-all, only bothering to speak with her because he deems her an intellectual equal, but it's the only way to get rid of him.

Then, as she's running down the fourth floor corridor just outside the library, still a long way from Gryffindor tower, she hears her name called, and can't help but stop. It's Mac, the other Wallace twin, which she guesses she should have already known because it's unusual to _not_ find him in the library during his free time. He wants to know if Snape's officially switched her to the sixth year potions class yet, and when he finds out that he has, wants to know if she'll be his lab partner. The olive-skinned boy with the closely cropped curly-hair has been one of her very close friends since he helped her get caught up with the lessons she missed in her first year, and she can't deny him anything. Without a second's hesitation, the answer is a resounding yes. After that, she has to excuse herself and take off running for the tower once again.

But, before she can actually make it, Lark Nolan stops her just outside the Fat Lady's portrait. Her bubbling, ditzy dorm mate can't recall what time Izzy agreed to tutor her and the other girls that night... or even which subject... With a laugh, Izzy reminds her of the time, place, and books she'll need, making the girl write it on her arm, which she's found is the only way to be certain that Lark remembers anything. Lark waves brightly, and bounces away to get in some quidditch practice before her next class, leaving Izzy finally free to find her wayward homework.

The essay is neatly placed on the pile of books she'd been using when she finished it two days ago. After she notes that she has only ten minutes to make class on time, Izzy stuffs it into her bag and races from the room.

But, since nothing seems to be going right today, she is stopped once more, this time by the sounds of stifled sobs coming from inside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the second floor. Knowing she'll probably be late for sure now, she gently pushes open the door and steps inside.

"Hello?" She calls cautiously, waving when she sees Myrtle floating cross-legged above the sinks.

"Hello, Izzy," The ghost chimes, smiling and seeming far too amused considering a crying person is in the room. Izzy is very well acquainted with the spirit. She spent a lot of free time with her during her first two years of school when she was still hiding from the world.

Myrtle leans closer to Isabel, whispering, "It's a _boy!_ I was going to kick him out, but he's been so entertaining, whining on and on about how his brother is going to kill him. And he's kind of cute, so I said that if his brother did kill him, he could come and share my toilet."

Myrtle laughs as she floats around the room on her back, tittering cruelly. Izzy scowls, "That's not very nice. Who is it?"

"I don't know," The ghost replies impatiently, "But he has red hair, and glasses, like mine. He's also small, so he's probably just an ickle first year." Once again, Myrtle loses herself in a fit of laughter, but Izzy ignores her because she's guessed who the crying boy must be.

"Percy?" She asks softly, peering in one of the stalls to indeed discover that Percy Weasley is indeed the crying boy. He is sat on top the toilet, his bony knees pulled to his nearly concave chest while he rubs his eyes, smudging his thick glasses with his grubby hands.

He looks up when she says his name, and then back down again, hugging himself tighter, "Hi, Izzy." He knows her since she spends so much time with Bill, and since Charlie will never shut up about how awful she is. Personally, he thinks she's rather nice (and pretty), and likes that she never makes fun of him (like most of the other kids in the school do) for being smart and wanting to follow the rules. Of course, he can't tell his older brothers that. Neither would ever let him hear the end of it.

"What's the matter?" Izzy asks, squatting down in front of him. He sniffles sadly, seeming reluctant. The girl smiles kindly, soothing, "Don't worry, whatever it is, you can tell me."

And that's all it takes, "My brother told me not to touch his things, but he had a book he got for his birthday that I wanted to read, so I was just gonna borrow it, but then I was walking down the hall, and bumped into a Slytherin, and he got mad, and took it away, and said he wasn't gonna give it back, and now my brother's gonna _kill_ me when he finds out!"

It takes a moment for Izzy to sort through the rapid, blubbering reply, but when she does, she inquires softly, "Why don't you just tell a teacher?"

"I can't," He says, clumsily wiping tears off his pale, freckled cheeks, putting greasy streaks on the lenses of his thick glasses, "Then I'll get beat up for tattling."

Izzy thinks hard, biting her lip and winding an escaped curl around her thin index finger. She has a hard time believing that Bill would really _kill_ Percy for what he did. Be a little cross with him, sure, but Bill is level-headed and wouldn't overreact. He doesn't have a temper at all, not like Charlie. But, of course, Percy really is frightened, and she does want to help the boy.

After a few minutes of silence, she knows what she has to do. "Who was the Slytherin who took it?" She asks patiently, gently taking his glasses off his face, cleaning them carefully on the corner of her shirt, and setting them back on his long, freckled little nose. Percy sniffs, then tells her gravely, "Nestor Aubrey."

Izzy winces. Of course it _would_ have to be the biggest, meanest, dumbest student in the entire castle. That's just how her day has been going. The boy is a brute. He should have graduated two years ago, but has been purposely failing end of year exams (or so the rumor goes) so that he can stay on as his house's ruthless beater, helping them stack the team so that they'll finally have a shot at taking the Quidditch Cup from the Gryffindors. Most of the school is absolutely terrified of Nestor, and with good reason. He's always getting involved in skirmishes that end up with the other party spending a few days unconscious. Of course, he never gets in trouble because he's good-looking and popular, and always has his posse of fellow good-looking and popular Slytherins testify that he never laid a hand on anyone.

"After he took the book," Izzy questions seriously, "Did you see where he put it?" Slightly confused as to why it matters, Percy answers, "The inside pocket of his robes." Izzy bites her lip once more, then continues, "Was it the right side, or the left side?" Percy screws up his eyes in concentration, almost making Izzy laugh. It's an adorable look for the little blue-eyed boy.

"I think... the left side," He finally answers. Izzy smiles, "Ok. Now, here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna stop moping and run along to class, and I'm gonna get the book back. I'll have it for you by dinner, ok?"

The young boy's face brightens as he smiles, "Really?" Izzy laughs warmly, "Really. Now, come on. We're both late, so let's hurry."

xxXxx

Because she doesn't have the heart to leave him, Izzy patiently (but briskly) walks with Percy all the way to his Transfiguration class, listening as the boy chatters happily about every little thing. Unfortunately, her act of kindness makes her very late to her own lesson.

"I'm so sorry, Professor," She apologizes as she comes running into Defense Against the Dark Arts ten minutes after the bell's rung. The class has been hell this year because the teacher is none other than former head girl Pamela Burton. The snide blonde still hasn't forgiven Izzy for breaking her nose on the train that first year, and takes every opportunity to torture the girl because of it. Izzy's only solace is the hope that the supposed curse on the DADA position will once again reign true, and there will be a new teacher next year.

"Do you have your homework?" Professor Burton asks shortly, turning to glare with her muddy brown eyes. Still inexplicably frightened of the woman she knows can't _really_ hurt her, Izzy nods, fishes her essay out of her bag, and sets it on the desk. With that done, she turns to find an empty seat.

"Not so fast, Cooper," The Professor sneers, stopping the girl in her tracks with a malicious grin, "Since you're already up here, you can go first."

"Um... Alright," Izzy drawls, looking desperately out over the class for some kind of indication of what she just agreed to. She gets a few sympathetic looks from her friends, but can't ignore the fact that Charlie Weasley, along with his Gryffindor year mates, Virgil Harper and Ahmad Jabir, are snickering cruelly at the back of the room. That is _never_ a good sign...

"Ok, so, as I was saying," The Professor announces, perverse glee all too obvious in her shrill voice and sharp features, "Today's lesson is boggarts. Who can tell me what a boggart is, and what defense spell is used to fight them?"

Izzy's mouth drops, and almost immediately Logan Lycoris, ever the (slightly insufferable) know-it-all, shoots his hand into the air. With a brief nod from the professor in his direction, the raven haired boy explains confidently, "Boggarts are shape-shifters that inhabit dark, enclosed spaces. No one knows what they looks like in their true form because they take on the appearance of the greatest fear of the people who encounter them. The defense spell is _Riddikulus._"

"Good," Professor Burton quips, taking a few long strides toward the Victorian style dresser beside her desk that's begun to shake ominously.

"P-Professor," Izzy stutters, severely frightened of what is going to come out of that dresser, "Please, I don't want to-"

"Wand out, Cooper!!" The moody professor demands curtly, ignoring the trembling girl's protest and snapping open the dresser.

A dark, inky fog seeps out of the opening, and the room goes completely quiet aside from the ragged breathing that can be hear from within the black depths. Izzy's knuckles are white from how hard she's gripping her wand, her eyes fixed intensely and her whole body on edge. She already knows what's going to come out of there, and desperately doesn't want to confront it.

But then it's right there, the towering, smiling giant from her nightmares. He's tall, with broad shoulders, and an almost angelic baby-face, accented by pale blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and watery gray eyes. Only she knows the twisted evil that lurks behind those eyes.

Uncle Richie grins sweetly as he steps onto solid ground, advancing on her as she reflexively backs away, unable to hear Professor Burton's shouts for her to use the defense spell. It doesn't matter. She can't make herself remember that it's just a boggart, and she's as helpless as she was when she was a child. She's at his mercy yet again.

"My pretty, little Isabel," He coos, his perfect white teeth beaming at her from inside his mouth as he clenches and unclenches his fists, staring at her with that fierce look that always meant she was about to be held down and...

"AHHHHHH!!!!" She screams, getting tripped by snickering Charlie Weasley as she continues to back away down the aisle. Barely, she regains her footing, only to find that she has her back up against the wall, nowhere to go as Uncle Richie closes in, his expression feral. She closes her eyes and shields her face behind her hands, trembling and seconds away from bursting into tears.

But then it's over. Izzy feels a _woosh_ of magic around her, and the room goes silent. It takes quite a few deep, calming breaths before she can finally force herself to open her eyes.

"Sit down, Cooper," Professor Burton sneers, grinning cruelly, "You're pathetic."

Izzy stumbles to an empty desk and sinks into it, hugging herself as she puts her head down. She can't stop shaking, and she knows that she really is pathetic.

xxXxx

"IZZY!!! WAIT!!!"

"STOP!!!"

"_ISABEL MORGAN COOPER!!!_ YOU HALT THAT SKINNY ARSE OF YOURS RIGHT THIS INSTANT!!"

With a defeated groan, Izzy abandons her frantic run down the hallway. She was a zombie for the remainder of class, and as soon as the bell rang she bolted. She just wants to be alone, but her friends don't seem to want to let that happen.

"Izzy, are you alright?" Tonks asks as she leads the small brigade of girls over. Weakly, Izzy smiles, "Ya, I'm fine. I just need to... go, um... somewhere..."

"Are you sure?" Marie presses quietly, terribly worried for her friend, "Burton was _so_ mean to you today."

Izzy waves her off, trying to seem unaffected as she answers, "No worse than usual. Guys, I'm fine, and I really do have to go."

"That bitch should be fired!!" Daisy rages, her pretty face twisted in disgust. Margo jumps in, adding just as angrily, "She can't just do that to you, forcing you like that!! You said you didn't want to!!"

"Yes," Trinh vehemently agrees in her slightly broken English, "She is bad woman!! Make me much angry!!"

Izzy sighs as her friends continue their tirade. She loves them all, but sometimes they just don't understand. Professor Burton is mean, sure, but it's not her fault that Izzy is pathetic...

She catches sight of Nestor Aubrey walking down the hallway, and he makes her forget her self pity. The boy, or rather _man_, considering that he's nearly twenty by now, is tall, with broad shoulders, and a thick neck. He is also very handsome, possessing chiseled features, and a dense mane of black hair on the top of his mostly empty head. She remembers the promise she made to Percy, and immediately begins walking towards Nestor, ignoring her friends as they follow in her wake and continue to bash the DADA professor.

Calling up the skills she hasn't used in years, instinctively knowing that they haven't, won't ever leave her, Izzy purposely runs right into the giant, flinching, but still managing to grab the book from the inside of his robes as he shoves her to the ground.

"Watch where you're going, Mudblood!" Nestor spits, staring Izzy down as his friends cackle over the little girl's frightened expression.

"HEY!" Daisy shouts, stepping bravely forward with Tonks on one side, and Margo on the other, "Don't talk to her like that, you stupid thug!!"

Izzy's eyes go wide. This wasn't part of the plan. Her friend's daring makes her barely notice that Marie and Trinh beside her, trying to find some way to help the girl up without actually touching her.

Nestor's assorted friends let out a mocking 'oooOOOooo,' making his mouth twist up into a malevolent grin. "And just who exactly is gonna stop me, _little girl?_" He drawls, his voice deep and cold.

Daisy, Tonks, and Margo are unflinching, an immovable barrier of courageous, slightly foolhardy _little girls._ "We are, OAF!" Margo spits, "Don't think I won't get Snape on your arse for this! Izzy happens to be, like, his _favorite_ student!"

"Oooh," Nestor replies sarcastically, "I had no idea I was dealing with Snape's little mudblood pet. By all means then, I'm _ever_ so sorry." He rolls his eyes, shoving Daisy out of his way, plowing right through her, Tonks, and Margo.

He steps over Izzy, purposely smacking her in the head with his book bag as he laughs lowly for only her to hear, "Don't think you've heard the last of me, mudblood. I'll be coming for you."

"YA, THAT'S RIGHT, YOU'D BETTER RUN!!" Tonks shrieks after him and his friends, brandishing a fist for good measure, a violent shade of fuchsia beginning to streak through her orange spikes as she slightly loses control of her powers.

"Are you ok?" Marie asks, drawing Izzy's attention away from the three girls who are having a very loud, heated Nestor-bashing session. Izzy looks over at her kind-hearted friend, picking herself up slowly as she says, "Ya, I'm fine. Let's just get to class."

xxXxx

"Izzy, what is book?" Trinh asks her later as they're walking to the Great Hall together for dinner. The sweet Hufflepuff is the only one of her friends that takes Arithmancy with her, the rest having opted for the much easier choice of Divination. She's also the only one of Izzy's friends that would ask, let alone be _interested_ in what book she was currently perusing.

Smiling brightly, Izzy runs her hands over the pristine, deep red cover of the text she pick-pocketed from Nestor. It's no bigger than the trashy muggle paperbacks Margo is addicted to, but it feels extremely dense, almost heavy enough to be one of the gigantic potions manuals she always has to fetch in order to research the assignments Snape gives her.

"I'm not sure," Izzy answers, "I'm returning it to Percy Weasley. It is curious though. This material it's bound with feels like dragon hide."

"Maybe is dragon hide," Trinh replies, combing delicately through her short, blue-green hair, "What is called?"

"Hmmm..." Izzy hums as she turns the book over to find thick black lettering along the spine, "_From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon Keepers' Guide_... Well, I suppose it is made from dragon hide. Strange though, it doesn't sound like something Bill would read. He loves fiction, adventure stories, mostly."

"You say book belongs to Percy," Trinh remarks, slightly distracted by turning to blatantly ogle a tall brunette fifth year boy, paying particular attention to his backside, giving a low whistle of appreciation.

Blushing and pretending she doesn't notice what her companion is staring at, Izzy answers, "Yes, well, he told me he borrowed it from his brother." Trinh finally tears her eyes away from the nicely toned bum, giving a slight shrug as she remarks wisely, "Percy have _two_ brothers here. Maybe belongs to other one."

"No, that's not possible," Izzy answers with a frown, once again running her hands over the thick cover of the book, "It can't be Charlie's. Charlie doesn't... _read_." The ginger-haired seeker may be well-liked, and (to almost everyone but Izzy) quite a sweet, albeit socially-awkward boy, but it's a well-known fact that he's rather slow, barely managing to scrape together high enough grades to remain on the quidditch team.

A slightly uncomfortable silence falls over the pair, broken only when Izzy catches sight of Percy standing nervously in a corner just outside the entrance to the Great Hall. "Oh, there he is," She says to her friend, jogging away as she calls over her shoulder, "Bye, Trinh. I'll be in the library tonight, helping Lark and the others with Transfiguration, so come by if you want to start working on our Arithmancy assignment." The Hufflepuff smiles and waves lightly as she continues into the Hall, "Yes, see you there."

Percy Weasley's frightened features immediately bloom into a happy grin when he sees Izzy walking towards him. Relieved beyond belief, he lets out a shaky breath as he notices that she has his brother's dragon book. He was skeptical at first about how she was going to be able to get it back, but grateful that she seems to have accomplished the task. But, because that's the way both their days have been going so far, just about the only thing that could possibly go wrong at that moment does.

"HEY!!" Charlie Weasley shrieks as he advances on Izzy, snatching the book away from her, "That's _mine!!_"

"Oh, um," Izzy drawls, backing away as she glances fearfully between Charlie and Percy, "It is?"

The stocky boy in front of her is clearly furious, his face flushed red behind heavy freckles and his fists clenched tightly at his sides, his broad, stubby fingers almost white from the force with which they're being pressed into the cover of the book. He's not much taller than her, but still seems to tower with his anger.

"Yes, it is! There's my name right there inside it!!" He bites back, shaking now as he shoves the open book right into her face. _Property of Charles Nicodemus Weasley_ is indeed scrawled, jagged and almost illegible, on the first, otherwise blank page, and Izzy gulps convulsively.

Charlie has never been very good at controlling his fiery temper, becoming slightly notorious for it when he managed to put his fist through a wall in third year following the news that he wasn't going to be allowed to play in the next quidditch match because his grades had slipped so low. Like then, his rage is taking control of his body and words. "But you already knew that since you _stole it_ from my trunk, you dirty thief!!!" He shrieks, snapping the book shut and stomping closer to Izzy.

She shrinks in on herself, backing away clumsily, terrified, but not willing to rat Percy out, especially since she can see what he meant about his brother killing him. "I-I didn't steal it from you," She insists quietly, not breaking from his intense, icy blue stare.

"A thief _and_ a liar!!" Charlie bites bitterly, eyeing her in disgust, "You're cowardly scum, and I'm never gonna understand why no one else seems to be able to see that!! The sorting hat must've majorly fucked up when it stuck you in Gryffindor!! There's nothing about you that fits with the rest of us, so how the hell did you manage your way in?" With that, Charlie decides that he's going to end up hitting her, a girl, if he stays any longer, so he turns and storms angrily away. His friends, Virgil and Ahmad, chase after the furious boy, desperate to calm him down before he does something he's going to regret.

Sadly, trying not to cry, Izzy watches him go. Today has been too hard, and too emotionally draining, and people are staring at her now, whispering and pointing, and she feels light-headed.

But she takes a deep breath, and turns into the hall, once again forcing herself to pretend she's alright as her spirit crumbles just a little bit more, muttering an answer to Charlie's question under her breath, "Because I have to be brave just to make myself get out of bed every morning."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

hope you guys liked it. reviews will be much appreciated ;)


	7. Part 7: The Biggest Mistake

Part 7 - The Biggest Mistake of Charlie Weasley's Life

"I caught her _red-handed!!!_" Charlie Weasley insists to his furious older brother as they stand face-to-face in the doorway of the fourth year boys dormitory, "She was carrying _stolen property!!_ Don't you get five to ten in Azkaban for shit like that? And _I'M_ supposed to apologize to _HER?_"

Having to put up an arm to keep Myron from jumping on the brat, Bill growls impatiently at his hot-headed, fifteen-year-old brother. "Yes," He insists grumpily, "I would _like_ for you to apologize, but since that'll never happen, since you're more of a stubborn arse than usual when it comes to Izzy, I'm _ordering_ you to at least _leave her alone_."

"Ya, you little prick," Myron adds venomously, insanely protective when it comes to the little girl he unofficially adopted as the little sister he never had but always wanted, "Leave Toothpick be. Daisy says she's been having nightmares again, probably from Burton torturing her with that boggart, and the last thing she needs is you picking on her!!"

"BUT SHE-" The frustrated redhead begins, trying to voice his objections only to be cut off once more by his older brother. "Look," Bill grits through clenched teeth, "It's been almost _four years_ since she stole your wand. Don't you think this is getting a little old?"

Fists clenched, Charlie glares, "No! She has everybody fooled, and I can't stand it!! One way or another, I'm gonna find a way to expose all the people she has suckered to who she really is, just an evil, sneaky, conniving little _THIEF!!_" And with that, he stomps into the safety of his dorm room, slamming the door in Bill's and Myron's faces.

"He's right, you know," Virgil Harper remarks coolly as he lazes on his four-poster, one arm tucked behind his head of tousled dark hair as his sharp hazel eyes skim the pages of a quidditch magazine. After three and a half years of sharing a room with Charlie Weasley, he's not at all phased by the boy's temper, or violent mood swings when it comes to the subject of Izzy Cooper, "She's not bad at all. She's horribly shy, almost unbearably nice, and pretty much the only reason I passed Potions last year. Give her a break."

Not believing what he's hearing, Charlie turns to his other roommate, barely even batting an eye when he finds the dark-skinned boy with a dozen or so quills stuck into his black hair as he shoves Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans up his nose one at a time, "Ahmad, mate, you hear this? Harper's gone soft on the thief!!".

Ahmad Jabir shrugs, wincing as he tries to fit just one more bean up his left nostril. "Ah duddo," The boy answers, his voice low and nasally, "Baybe ee's go' a poin'."

"Huh?" Charlie inquires, unable to decipher the comment despite years of fluency in 'too many beans up my nose to be coherent any longer.' Fortunately, Ahmad sneezes, expelling almost all of the offending candy and making him understandable once again.

With a loud sniff, he explains, "I said, maybe he's got a point. I mean, she does seem real nice. You should hear Marie talk about her..." Upon seeing a dazed, dopey smile cross his friend's features, Charlie rolls his eyes, knowing he's lost the boy to more daydreams of a certain fourth year Gryffindor who happens to be good friends with his archenemy.

"I don't believe this," Charlie grumbles, pacing like a caged animal, "Since when are the both of you on the thief's side? You've never minded screwing around with her before!!"

Virgil shrugs, his attention divided between his very interesting magazine and his very insane friend, "Well, I mind now. It's just starting to seem... mean. She's been nothing but sweet for four years. Doesn't that count for anything? Don't you think it's time to let it go?"

"NO!!" Charlie answers, grinding his teeth as his face turns to a flaming red, "I do not think it's time to _let it go!!_ She's a thief!! She stole my wand, and she stole my book, and I'm gonna find a way to prove to the whole school how awful she is, with or without your help!!"

"Without then," Ahmad chirps, his voice calm and even, which is unlike him, as he almost always has a slight laugh in his tone, "Really, Charlie, you're a bit obsessed. It's kinda getting creepy. Maybe you should have a drink to calm down. I still have that bottle of firewhiskey I knicked from my sister."

Charlie sends a death glare at the other boy before turning and stomping from the room, a plan already beginning to form in his twisted little mind.

xxXxx

_"Pretty little Isabel... _My_ pretty little Isabel..." His deep voice croons as hot, sticky peppermint breath stifles her senses. She can't move. She's too terrified to scream. Tears leak from behind her tightly clenched eyes as she tries to pretend it isn't happening, tries to pretend she doesn't feel his rough hands tenderly caressing her small body, not leaving one bit of skin untouched, untainted._

_"Open your eyes, my Isabel," He demands short-temperedly, his tone low, dangerous, and punctuated by a vicious squeeze of her slender thigh. She knows that if she doesn't obey he'll only make things worse._

_Her wide amber eyes open, but her vision is fuzzy and dark, hampered by tears and lacy curtains blocking the moonlight from her room. Still, she can make out the shape of his massive body looming over hers._

_She doesn't need to be able to see clearly to know that he's grinning, perfect white teeth beaming through the dark as his eyes crinkle just so at the corners. Possessing a broad, good-natured face, and almost boyish good looks, he's considered handsome by most people's standards._

_But she knows different._

_"Very good, my little Isabel," His voice is pleased, pandering, and more sickly sweet than his breath, "Be a good little girl and watch Uncle Richie while we play. It's time for our special game..."_

xxXxx

Drenched in a cold sweat and shuddering violently, Izzy starts awake, rescuing herself from her past.

Three weeks it's been like this, avoiding sleep until she's too exhausted to try anymore, then being plagued by the nightmares that make her fear sleep so much. She's worn out, drained and weak both emotionally and physically. It's becoming too much to handle, and she doesn't know what she's going to do if the nightmares don't lessen soon.

Ever since Professor Snape found those memories, she's had nightmares, but not like this. Even those first weeks she had to deal with them weren't like this. It's just _too much._ The small girl is quickly becoming overwhelmed.

"Iz?" A groggy, sleep-hoarse voice inquires softly, making her jump and nearly fall out of her bed as she turns to find that it's just Daisy Hailen, peering at her through only one forced open eye as she asks, "You alright, hun? You sound like you're freakin' out."

"I-I'm fine," Izzy says, still trying to catch her breath. Daisy opens the other eye, giving the small girl a look that clearly says she doesn't believe that for a second as she asks gently, "Nightmares again?"

Weakly, Izzy manages a nod. She feels horribly guilty that Daisy, the lightest sleeper in the dorm, is always the one who gets woken up by her nightmares, and desperately wishes there was something she could do to stop them.

The half-asleep black girl sighs in frustration. She knows about Izzy's guilt issues, wanting to always please, and never be a bother, but Daisy doesn't care that she gets woken up (well, ok, she does a little). She's just terribly worried for her friend. "Wanna talk about it?" She offers quietly, "Might help."

Still shivering, feeling sick to her stomach and absolutely filthy all over, Izzy shakes her head. "N-No," She answers weakly as she stumbles out of bed, heading for the bathroom to scald away her nightmare in a long hot shower, "I think I'll just get an early start. Maybe work on finishing my Arithmancy project so I don't have to worry about it over break."

"Early start my arse," Daisy grumbles, yawning and closing her eyes as she hears the shower turn on, "Three AM is not an _early start_. Three AM is a crime against nature."

xxXxx

"Toothpick, you eat that pot roast, or, so help me Merlin, I _will_ stage an intervention!" Myron threatens at dinner that night, smiling and trying to be funny, but still absolutely serious, a hint of his worry showing through the mask.

Izzy sighs, poking half-heartedly at the gravy slathered piece of meat her well-meaning friend slapped on her plate as soon as he coerced her to the table. She managed to avoid breakfast and lunch, the first time she's skipped her meals with Myron in the entire time she's been at Hogwarts, but he finally caught up with her and didn't buy any of her excuses. Of course, she was horribly sad about it, her meals with him always a high point in her days, but she feels queasy, and exhausted, and the last thing she wants to think about is food.

"Sorry, My," She grumbles weakly, letting her fork clatter to the plate as she pushes it away, "I'm just not hungry." Fighting down nausea, she shuts her eyes tightly. The sight and smell of all the food is awful.

Beside her, Myron's heart is breaking. He _hates_ to see Izzy so... wrecked. Since she arrived, he's managed to bring the bright, funny, slightly cheeky little girl out from the wall she built up around herself. He's always prided himself on being able to make her laugh when no one else could, on being the first person to recognize that there was a beautiful personality beneath all her shyness. And now... It's almost as if she's regressing to how she was when he first met her, and he can't stand it.

Barely catching himself in time to stop the arm he desperately wants to put around her from actually touching her body, he lets his limb drop to his side as he whispers lowly, "I'm really worried about you, Toothpick. You've been depressed for weeks. Please, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong... Is it what happened with the boggart?"

The girls' big doe eyes snap open, offset by dark circles beneath them and sparkling with unshed tears that she once again manages to keep at bay. "I-I'm fine, My," She insists flatly, getting to her feet and planning on making a quick run for it, "Really. I've just got an upset stomach, is all. Think I'm gonna go to the library and study. See you back at the tower."

Powerless to stop her, Myron watches as she runs from the Great Hall, her fatigue apparent in the way she struggles beneath her heavy book bag and the weight of all the secrets she just won't share.

xxXxx

Charlie Weasley has had a gigantic grin on his face all day. His plan is _genius_, simple, yet amazing.

He is going to get little goody-two-shoes Isabel Cooper very drunk. He's going to take lots of pictures to document the occasion, and then he's going to abandon her in Hogsmeade. With any luck (well, no luck involved really since he plans on sending an anonymous owl or two), she'll get caught, and punished. Usually sneaking out of school to get wasted merits at least a week's suspension.

_"Let's see her pretend to be sweet and harmless after _that_,"_ He thinks to himself, smirking maliciously as he discreetly watches her during dinner, waiting for the opportunity to put his plan into action. When she flees from Myron, he sees his chance, and quickly goes after her.

"Cooper! Hey, Cooper!" He calls, sprinting to catch up with the small girl, who doesn't seem at all willing to slow down and talk to him. But, when she nearly trips at the end of the hallway, she has no choice but to stop in order to regain her breath, and that's when he manages to arrive in front of her.

"Cooper," Her eyes go wide when she recognizes the voice through her own pitiful gasps. Slowly, she stands, trying to not show how frightened she is as she comes face-to-face with Charlie Weasley.

But he smiles, awkward, yet endearing and charming, and says, "Hey, Coop."

"Hi," She responds quietly, unnerved by the boy's change of attitude towards her, backing away slightly just to be safe. He takes a step towards her, closing the distance as he puts up his hands, "Look, I just wanna talk."

"I didn't steal that book from you," She insists, her shoulders hunched as she watches him skittishly, just waiting for him to make a move.

Still, the boy who has done nothing but hurl insults her way for three and a half years just continues to smile, "I really don't care anymore. I wanna call a truce, start over with you, alright? Come to Hogsmeade and get a butterbeer with me, and we'll talk about it."

"We're not allowed out," Izzy responds, scandalized by the suggestion that she leave the school, and with _Charlie Weasley_ of all people. "Come on," He goads, grinning broadly, "No one will catch us. It's just a quick butterbeer, and I'll have you back before curfew." Then, pouting and looking hurt, he asks softly, "Don't you wanna be friends with me? I'm sorry I was so horrible to you, and I just wanna make it up."

Izzy is too weak to argue, and already has too much guilt weighing on her conscience to handle being the one that makes his face fall like that. "I do want to be your friend," She answers quietly, "A-And I'll go. Just... I need to put my books in the tower first."

"Excellent," Charlie beams, taking another step forward and gallantly attempting to pick her bag up off her slender shoulder as he says, "Here, let me get that."

"NO!" She shrieks, jumping away from the touch only to find herself with her back against the wall. When she discovers that she's trapped between Charlie and solid stone, she shuts her eyes, trembling and cowering in panic induced fear.

Absolutely confused, and quite annoyed (but trying to hide it), the freckled young boy backs off, allowing Izzy a few moments to get her breathing under control before he says, "Uh... or you could carry your own bag... that's good too."

"Hey! Leave her alone!" A voice suddenly shouts down the hallway. While Izzy is attempting to calm down, Charlie turns, and groans. The last person he needs to be interfering is running towards them. He's seen the way Cale Eyret looks at the girl. _"A Slytherin and a thief _would_ be good together,"_ He muses, _"They deserve each other, but the bastard's just gonna mess everything up if he butts in now."_

"Weasley," Cale hisses, shoving the redhead away from his friend before softening his tone to ask, "Izzy? Are you alright? Is he bothering you?"

"Oh, bugger off, snake," Charlie quips cockily, rolling his eyes, not frightened of the boy for even a second despite the fact that he's almost a foot taller than him, "No one needs you to be playing the hero. We were on our way somewhere."

Cale scowls, "I wasn't talking to _you_." The Slytherin then turns back to the shaking, amber-haired girl cowering against the wall, reminding himself not to touch her as he presses gently, "Izzy?"

"I-I'm fine," She whispers, clearing her throat and opening her eyes before going on, "Fine, Cale, really. It was... nothing." Even though she concludes her response with a watery smile, her friend is not convinced. Over the past several weeks, he's gotten to know her a lot better, now definitely considering her one of the few friends he has. Despite her reputation for being bashful and fragile, she's actually a very strong person. Amazingly, she's even chewed him out a few times for wanting to give up when she was trying to teach him something. She only shies away like she is at the moment if she's threatened or scared. Either of the two is not acceptable to Cale.

"Is this wanker bugging you?" He asks under his breath, glaring suspiciously at Charlie. But, before he can offer to take care of the spiteful redhead for her, Izzy shakes her head, answering, "No. No, we were just talking. I'm fine, really. And you shouldn't call him that. It's mean."

"Ya," Charlie agrees smugly, conveniently blocking out the part of the conversation where Izzy actually defended him, "And if you don't mind, we're kinda having a private conversation, so shove off."

Izzy scowls disapprovingly, mostly composed now and upset over the way Charlie Weasley is speaking to Cale. Being picked on and tormented she can take, but when it comes to people being mean to her friends... well, that's where she draws the line.

"Don't be obnoxious," She scolds, the force in her voice slightly startling to Charlie, who assumed she was nothing but a timid little shrinking violet, "Cale didn't do anything to you, and you shouldn't treat him like that. Apologize."

Charlie has to do a slight double-take when he realizes that Izzy Cooper just told, no, _demanded_ that he _apologize_ to a _Slytherin_... a Slytherin who is her _friend_. Prideful and stubborn, the young redhead would like nothing more than to tell the both of them to go to hell, but he needs her to cooperate if his plan is going to work, so he bites his tongue, and turns to Cale, hissing a curt, "_Sorry._"

Cale doesn't respond, merely turning back to Izzy and whispering urgently, "You sure you're alright? I can walk you to the tower, if you'd like? Or go find Myron?"

The sweet little girl graces him with a soft smile, touched by how utterly kind he is, "Yes, I'm sure. I'll be fine on my own. Just remember to bring your Transfiguration work to breakfast tomorrow, and I'll check it over. See you then."

With a shy backwards glance over her shoulder and a ghost of a wave, she walks away. Cale watches her go, an inexplicable feeling of foreboding wrenching his insides as Charlie Weasley follows with a wicked grin on his wide, freckled face.

xxXxx

"This is _not_ the Three Broomsticks," Izzy observes, looking warily about the small, smelly pub as Charlie slides into the seat across from her in the cramped corner booth.

Grinning, the boy glances around like he's just noticing as he says, "Huh. It seems so. Don't worry, the Hog's Head is much better. We won't get busted here."

"I guess," She responds, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as he pushes a dingy glass filled to the top with thick, frothy brown liquid across to her, "This is _not_ butterbeer."

"They were out," Charlie responds brightly, gulping his own drink as he says, "Just try it. It's real good. Promise."

After a tentative sniff at the concoction, the girl asks, "Well... what is it? There's no alcohol in it, is there?" The redhead laughs, "So what if there is?" With a frown, Izzy pushes the glass away, "I don't drink."

"Oh, come on," He prods, wiping some froth from his freckled upper lip, "Don't be such a goodie-goodie." Silently, she glares. She's not sure what exactly she was expecting from Charlie's sudden desire to 'call a truce,' and 'start over,' but she'll be damned if she's going to start drinking. She remembers what her brother was like when he drank, plus, with what happened to her parents... it just seems like alcohol has given her family nothing but misery and grief, and she refuses to give it the opportunity to inflict anymore.

Charlie groans, giving her a frustrated roll of his eyes, "Fine. Jeez, I was kidding. There's no alcohol, alright. Last thing I need is to get caught doing something stupid like that. Taste it for yourself." She doesn't seem convinced, but when he hangs his head over his own drink, sighing and mumbling, "Knew this was never gonna work out," she just can't help the twinge of guilt she feels pulling at her heart, and takes a delicate sip from the glass.

Slightly fizzy and syrupy in her mouth, the liquid is warm, with a saccharine, vaguely tangy taste that she can't quite pinpoint but doesn't think is alcohol since it tastes nothing like the way Jordy used to smell when he came home drunk. After the first couple of sips, she smiles across at Charlie, feeling much more at ease with him. It also helps that the bubbles in the drink are helping to settle her stomach. Charlie's just happy that the taste of the high proof alcohol he put in her drink is masked by the sugar.

Then the pair lapse into an uncomfortable silence, neither quite knowing what to say to the other. Charlie didn't really think far enough into his plan to have prepared any topics for conversation, and Izzy just has a hard time talking to people she doesn't know.

"So," Charlie finally states, trailing off as he takes another long pull from his own, _actually_ non-alcoholic drink. Izzy sips, responding in the same tone, "So."

"What did you want to talk about?" She inquires after a few more long minutes spent in silence, gazing awkwardly down into her glass, then drinking a big gulp to try to fight down her nervousness. The light-headedness that's started to take hold of her is barely noticeable alongside it.

"Um..." The boy across from her responds with a shrug, trying to think quick so she doesn't get suspicious of his motives, "I dunno..."

"Do you hate me?" She asks, her glass almost empty now, and her tongue unusually loose. The sight of her big, doe-like eyes, wide and glazed over the top of her drink makes Charlie suck in a sharp breath. He may hate her, but, with those eyes, the wild hair, and full, pouting lips... Merlin, she's beautiful.

And that fact makes his hate double. How dare someone that beautiful be so vile!!

"No," He lies, noticing her sigh with relief as she drains the rest of her drink. Teeth clenched, he watches her slender throat work as she swallows, having to remind himself repeatedly that he has a plan, and that it's _Izzy Cooper_, for crying out loud!

"Here," He says, jumping to his feet as he snatches the empty glass from her, "Let me get you another."

xxXxx

An hour and five spiked drinks later, Izzy is feeling more than a little bit tipsy. Never having been drunk before, she doesn't recognize the sensation. She thinks she might just be coming down with something.

But every time she says so, suggesting that maybe it's time to be getting back (since coming out with Charlie in the first place has turned out to be such a huge mistake anyways, as he's said little besides '_Let me get you another_' all night), the redhead has merely attempted to convince her that drinking more will help her feel better.

With fluid grace that is a stark contrast to Izzy's near inability to stay upright in her seat, Charlie sets yet another glass of warm, frothy liquid in front of her. She groans, hanging her head as she sways, and slurs, "I don' want anymore. Can we please go back?"

Grinning like a Cheshire cat that his plan is working so well, Charlie takes his own seat and responds, "You wanna go back already? But I just thought of something we can talk about!"

"Really?" The girl responds, blinking hard, and rubbing her forehead to try to make the room stop spinning, "Well... M'kay, what is it?"

Trying hard to keep his voice free from the anger boiling inside himself, he asks, "Why did you steal my book?" The reasoning behind her thievery has never really been all that interesting to him, but, after observing an hour of nothing but her being as shy and sweet as everyone says she is, it's begun to nag at him. Seeing as how she's liquored up beyond the ability to lie coherently, he figures that now would be the perfect time to figure it out.

"Told you already," She sighs in frustration, "I didn't steal it from you. 'M not lyin'."

"Ok," He goes on, suddenly not a hundred percent sure that he doesn't believe her, "Fine. Why did you steal my wand then? I know you did that."

"W-What?" She asks, jumping and slopping some of the drink out of her glass. After a slight scowl and a small amount of sick, twisted pleasure that he's managed to rattle her, Charlie reiterates, "Why did you steal my wand? Or, do you not have a reason? Kleptomania, perhaps?"

"I-I... but... you said..." The girl stutters helplessly, too inebriated to hear the warning bells going off in her head, her own voice urgently shouting, _"RUN!!"_

It's a horrible idea to tell Charlie anything, and she knows that, but she's too exhausted, and too drunk, and too damn tired of keeping it all to herself. Finally, she sighs, her carefully constructed shields nothing but scorched ruins now as she asks in a slurred whisper, "You really wanna know?" The boy leans forward expectantly, nodding as he whispers back, "Ya, I really do."

"I's a long story," Izzy mumbles, letting her gaze drop to her lap. Her amber curls, worn loose today because she just couldn't find the energy to braid them, fall to veil her face, hiding the tears that have begun to well up as she slurs quietly, "When I was two, my momma and daddy were killed in a car crash. Drunk driver."

With his glass halfway to his mouth, Charlie freezes, unable to think anything aside from _"Oh shit"_ as Izzy continues, "I-I... I don't remember them at all."

She can't keep the tears from falling, and she doesn't know why. She doesn't want to tell Charlie, or anyone, these things about herself, but it's like she doesn't have a choice. She can't stop, "Me and my brother, Jordy... we got sent to live with... w-with..."

She sobs, the sound quiet, but gut-wrenching, and Charlie suddenly doesn't like this plan anymore. He never envisioned making her cry, or tricking her into confiding in him, telling him these things that he's almost certain she's never even told her closest friends. It's wrong, and he knows it.

Izzy ignores him, he might as well not be there anymore. The room is spiraling all around her, lights, sounds, colors, smells, all blending into one blurred rush of sensation, making her dizzy and sick to her stomach. She feels like throwing up, like sleeping, like dying, but, instead, she takes another large mouthful of her drink, and forces it down.

A dangerous amount of alcohol coursing through her system, she finds the courage to do something she's never done before, admit out loud the horrible acts committed upon her in her youth, "I was only two, and h-he was really nice at first, always buying me things, and reading me stories. Then it all changed. One night, he came into my room, and he held me down, a-and h-he raped me."

Another large mouthful of the thick, saccharine concoction in front of her, and she sighs, tears pouring down her cheeks, but she's graced with an inexplicable feeling of relief. It feels good to let it out, so she keeps going, "And it never stopped. _Never._ It was almost every single night, and it went on for... I think it was two years before we left. God, it was such a long time... I never thought about how long it was before... He used to touch me all over... There's nowhere on my body that's mine... It hurt too much, and I was just too little, I guess, because I blocked it all out. It wasn't until later that Snape made me remember... forced me with legilimency because I wouldn't tell them how I'd gotten on the train..."

"J-Jordy," She goes on after taking another huge gulp, grimacing as she forces the sticky liquid down her throat, "He's my big brother, he took us away from my uncle, and then we lived on the streets for a long time. It was just me and Jordy, and everything was ok for a few years. We had to learn to steal, or else we couldn't eat, but we only stole enough so that we could... But then he started with the drugs, and drinking, and he... _changed._"

After one more drink, the glass is drained, but Izzy can't find the coordination to set it back on the table, letting it drop from her grasp and shatter against the hard surface. The attention of the entire pub falls on the two kids in the back corner, two seconds of complete silence enveloping the room before the grizzled old bartender growls and shouts, "Yer gonna pay fer that!" It's like a cue for the normalcy to return, sweeping through as the buzz of conversation restores itself.

"He hit me," Izzy declares, clear as day, and sounding so depressed and broken that Charlie immediately regrets everything he's ever done to cause her pain. She's obviously had more than her fair share, and never needed anymore from him.

Toying with a jagged razor of broken glass, running her index finger lightly across it, she goes on, "Jordy. He hit me." Seeming to finally remember that Charlie is there, she picks her head up, her eyes wide and spilling over with her hurt, "I know it was Jordan, a-and I know it was just because of the drinking, a-and the drugs, but... how could he hit me?" Her question is directed at the blur of red across from her that she knows even in her fuzzy mind has been listening, "Didn't he love me enough not to hurt me? I love him. Does he hate me? Is it because I'm so stupid, a-and ugly?"

Charlie shakes his head, only vaguely aware that his mouth is hanging open, completely unable to fathom the kind of life this girl's had. She's been abandoned, beaten, and violated past the point that he thinks he would even be able to survive, and yet she's still able to function, to walk around with a smile on her face, to be the top of the class, to deal with fucking arseholes like him...

"You're not," He assures quietly, aware that she's probably too far gone to be listening, despite the fact that she's staring right at him, "I'm so sorry."

Derisively, she snorts, looking back to the piece of glass, "Why you sorry? Not like you did it." For some reason, the snappish response makes him smile. He can see the fight in her now, the inner strength, and he can't help but admire that.

"I haven't answered your question yet, have I?" She muses, pressing the pad of her finger to a sharp point on one particular shard of glass, inexplicably fixated on drawing blood, on causing more pain, "You wanted to know why I stole your wand. Well, I'll tell you. My brother needed money, for more drugs, I suspe... sususpec... I think. He didn't actually tell me so himself. He punched me, and called me fat, then sent me to go get him some. I was a pickpocket, you see, in King's Cross, and that's how I ended up with your wand. I picked your pocket. Then some guys my brother owed money to caught up with me, and they knocked me around for awhile, and I ran. They were chasing me, and I looked over my shoulder, and then went straight into the pillar, and onto 9 and 3/4."

With a nostalgic, bittersweet smile, Izzy concludes, "Tonks collided with me, then pulled me onto the train, and I ended up at Hogwarts. I tried running away once, to find Jordy, but he was gone. Our house was gone, burned down, nothing left at all... I-I don't even know if my brother's still alive..."

She feels a slight prick on her finger, looking down to finally realize that the shard of glass is imbedded deeply into her flesh. "Ow," She states blankly, not bothering to remove the glass, merely watching in fascination as she bleeds onto the table. Red hot liquid pools in her palm, running down her wrist and arm, finally dripping off the tip of her elbow and to the floor.

"FUCK!" Charlie yelps, suddenly noticing that the girl has sliced herself open, "What the hell did you do that for?"

"I-I'm sorry!" She sobs, shrinking back from him, "I'm sorry for stealing your wand! I didn't mean to m-make you hate me! I just didn't want to get hit anymore! I-I'm sorry!"

The redhead freezes. He doesn't think he's ever felt worse in his entire life than at that moment. This has all been a mistake. A _huge_ mistake. "No," He sighs, reaching across to try to grab her hand, to stop the bleeding, "Don't say sorry to me."

"DON'T TOUCH ME!!" She shrieks, once again turning all attention towards them. Several men look ready to get up and intervene upon seeing the girl, bleeding, cowering, and sobbing hysterically, but, since it's the unofficial Hog's Head policy, they all merely go back to their own business. One table of young men, however, does not. With sly grins passed around the group, they form wicked intentions toward the very drunk girl and the stocky redhead who doesn't look big enough to defend her.

"Shhh," Charlie soothes, oblivious to the fact that they're now being watched, "It's alright. I'm sorry, I won't touch you. Look, just stay here. I'll pay, and take you right back, ok?" She doesn't answer, already half-passed out though she can't stop crying. He barely manages to sweep the broken glass out of the way before she lets her head drop to the table, her cheek contacting the surface hard.

Realizing for the first time that they're shaking, Charlie runs both hands through his short red hair. As he sprints toward the bar, he's mentally kicking his own arse for what he did tonight. This was the biggest mistake of his entire life. Little does he know, it's about to get much, much worse...

xxXxx

At the table, Izzy leans farther into the dark corner and vomits on the floor, everything in her stomach leaving in one foul burn. Over the loud conversation that's giving her one hell of a headache, she's not even noticed.

Barely, the girl manages to push herself back up, just in time to feel the padded bench sag on either side of her. "Hello, sweetheart," One smooth, deep, unrecognizable voice drawls. A second voice, one that sounds slightly familiar, adds, "Buy you a drink?"

"No, thank you," Her voice is hoarse from the acid, not willing to be forced above a low whisper as she sways in her seat and blinks at the two blurred faces, "Don' feel good. Gonna go home."

"Oh, so soon?" The familiar voice teases lightly. She can feel him move closer, and tries scoot away, but very soon realizes that she has nowhere to go as the other voice coos from her escape route, "The night is young. Don't you wanna have a little fun? We'll show you a good time for sure."

"I... um... n-no..." She argues, confused, and frustrated, and crying in a weak rasp, "No, no, no! I wanna go home! Where's Charlie?"

She can feel the bench sag a few more times. Though she can't seem to count exactly how many, it was at least five. Five more people. Five more men.

"He's left," The familiar voice reports gravely as the body it belongs to moves closer, making her cower and shake with fear, "Stupid kid obviously doesn't know what to do with a little girl as pretty as you." He pauses, and she can feel his eyes on her, getting the distinct feeling that he's licking his lips, "You need some real men, and, by a lucky coincidence, that's what _we_ happen to be."

And then suddenly she looks up and she can't see the rest of the room anymore. More people have sat down, definitely a lot more than the first five she counted, enough so that she's obscured by the bodies, lost in a dark corner, afraid, alone, and powerless. She realizes that no one is going to help her, not anyone in the bar, and certainly not _Charlie_.

And then there's a hand on her thigh, broad and oddly smooth, sliding up. Her scorched throat won't cooperate with her desire to scream. Horror-stricken by the rapidly worsening situation, she tries to squirm away, only to experience a few more sets of strong, unrelenting hands close over her shoulders, wrists, hips, and legs, pinning her down.

And all the while, the hand on her thigh slides higher, its mate pulling her shirt free from its neat tuck and sliding under it, fondling her tender, still growing breasts as that familiar voice chuckles hotly in her ear, "Hold still, and I'll show you the only thing mudblood whores like you are good for."

And the hand is there, roughly cupping her between her legs, slender fingers slowly ripping her plain white knickers, the voice taunting cruelly, "And when I'm done, all my friends are gonna show you, too."

xxXxx

At the bar, Charlie Weasley receives his change and a look of contempt from the gray-haired bartender. The boy's stomach is so twisted with guilt and worry that it takes the old man behind the counter three tries to get his attention.

"Lad," The bearded fellow grunts, making Charlie jerk suddenly out of his knotted thoughts. "Huh?" He asks, trying not to look as guilty and ashamed as he feels. The bartender nods gravely towards the back of the room, "Best keep a closer eye on ya girl."

Blue eyes go wide and Charlie whips his head toward the spot where he left Izzy, only to find that he can't see her any longer. A thick crowd of large young men is seated in and around their booth. His heart stops, and he prays that she's not trapped back there.

Then he catches a glimpse of her over the tops of the heads, literally trying to climb up the wall to escape, clawing clumsily at it and streaking the dingy brown surface with blood from her cut finger while the men laugh and grope her small body. Her clothes are all in disarray, her face tear-stained and frightened. She sees him from across the room, and her mouth opens in a silent plea before the men pull her roughly from his sight.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!!!" Charlie shouts, immediately overwhelmed by rage as he runs to save the girl. He's furious at the men attacking her, but he's more furious at himself for endangering her in the first place, and that's why he doesn't think at all about his own safety when he jumps into the mob and just starts punching.

Despite being small for his age, Charlie Weasley is strong, and more than a little bit crazy, and, as he's heard his mother chime on the occasions he and Bill have seen fit to have a go at each other, crazy against big is quite a match.

The tavern erupts in an all out brawl, and it's basically Charlie versus everybody. As the boy fights his way through, getting punched, and kicked, and elbowed more times than he can keep track of, he can hear Izzy sobbing over the noise, but he can't find her. Panic has a firm, tightening hold on his heart.

A blow to the temple suddenly has the boy seeing stars, wobbly and dazed long enough for one member of the mob to grab his arms and pin them behind his back, while another starts pummeling him hard in the head and stomach. Before long, Charlie's thoroughly battered and bruised, not to mention coughing up blood. Barely able to breathe between each pound of fist, he still fights violently to get free, because he can still hear Izzy screaming...

xxXxx

"STOP!! LET GO!! DON'T TOUCH ME!!" She sobs desperately, unable to think anything else, the world spinning around her as she's dragged away from the fight by that one familiar voice. It's owner has his thick arm tightly around her midsection, and is pressing into her hard enough to squeeze all the air from her body.

Tears blur her spinning vision, and she pleads, weak and pitiful, "P-Please. Stop." She's still clawing, and kicking, and thrashing as best she can in her severely inebriated state, but the world is starting to darken, and she knows it's all over if she lets consciousness slip away. She fights with everything in her to stay awake, to do what little she can to protect herself.

The man is not fazed, merely picking her up off the ground, slapping his other hand over her mouth and making it even harder for her to breathe as he hauls her up a rickety staircase, growling, "Shut your mouth, you little mudblood whore, or I'll shut it for you."

Nestor Aubrey. She suddenly knows who the voice belongs to, and it's Nestor Aubrey, the dark-haired, seventh year Slytherin who vowed he would come after her. Her reckless, wild struggle doubles as he heaves her up the stairs, though she only succeeds in making him angrier. A low hiss right up against her ear sends shivers down her spine, "You and me are gonna have a real good time tonight."

xxXxx

Aside from the kitchen at the Burrow, the Gryffindor common room is Bill Weasley's absolute favorite place in the world. Well, actually, just his favorite place in England, since he hasn't been to the rest of the world... yet.

The tall, lanky boy grins broadly just from thinking of that _yet_, the travel brochures he secretly hoards spread out before him in silent promise of adventures to come. It's only in the late hours, when all his house mates have gone to bed and the common room is completely deserted, does he indulge in coating entire tables with his vast collection of colorful, exotic images of far away places, and just letting his imagination run _wild_. With the grades he has, no career is off-limits, and that means no place on Earth is either.

The brilliant, mysterious Temple of the Azure Cloud in Malaysia has always held his interest. He's aware that it's slightly Slytherin of him to be fascinated by a place overrun with deadly pit-vipers, but the rumor that they are the servants of the departed Buddhist priest who founded the temple, a man rumored to have possessed miraculous healing powers, makes the place extremely intriguing. The magical monument of the first known parselmouth and inventor of many of the medicinal potions still used today sounds like an absolutely amazing place to explore.

And then there's the Waitomo glow worm caves in New Zealand. Fondly fingering the worn edges of the spectacular photo on the front of the brochure, he can quote from memory how the location offers black water rafting, riding underground river rapids in pitch darkness, the only light coming from the glowing insects that hang from the ceilings of the caves. Somewhere in that labyrinth is a certain Maori artifact, a carving of a bird that is said to be a direct link to heaven; it is also said to be guarded by thousands of immortal warriors, but that just makes the quest to find it all the sweeter.

Antarctica, too, with those immense, luminous blue glaciers has its draw. The thought of being able to send little Ron and Ginny picture postcards of himself posing with penguins and baby seals brings an affectionate smile to his face, and the idea of conquering an inhospitable climate where many before have perish stokes his Gryffindor courage and the unbridled sense of adventure he doesn't ever think he'll grow out of. A lost wizarding library is supposed to be buried beneath the ice at the South Pole, and he wants nothing more than to find it. Thousands of years of the most complete history of his world is just too tempting to pass up.

And who could forget Egypt? Panorama views of red hot sunsets behind the great pyramids at Giza, ancient golden talismans deep in treacherous, enchanted tombs, and the jammed, chaotic streets of Cairo often make appearances in his daydreams. So much history, and so much life, and so much _magic_ exists in that desert, and he wants to be a part of it; he wants the magic of that beguiling wasteland to burn him up.

The dull sound of voices suddenly snaps Bill out of his fantasizing. In an instant, his vast collection of pictures is swept off the table, and neatly, but hurriedly, arranged back in the plywood crate advertising Florida oranges. _"Hmm... Florida... Gators... That could be cool..."_ He thinks, letting himself drift off one final time before shaking his head, throwing a jumper over his crate, and picking up a book to pretend to be reading when whoever it is that's talking comes into the room.

But, after waiting for almost five minutes, Bill is still alone. Puzzled, he perks up his ears a little more, managing to pinpoint the voices as coming from _outside_ the tower, by the portrait hole if he's not mistaken.

He doesn't think it could be a Gryffindor who's forgotten the password, since the only one to do that anymore is ditzy fourth-year Lark Nolan, and he saw her go to bed hours ago. He figures that it must be someone sneaking around after curfew. If that is the case, it is his responsibility as a prefect to catch and chastise the guilty party. He just hopes it's not Charlie again... Having to discipline his little brother, while kind of funny, is sometimes awkward.

"Look, I'm not trying to break in, or anything," Bill hears a boy, who is definitely (and thankfully) not Charlie, arguing as he presses his ear to the backside of the portrait, "I just want you to tell me whether or not she's in the tower!"

"Absolutely not!" The Fat Lady replies, sounding scandalized, and, as always, quite haughty, "Such information is not at my liberty to divulge. It's a question of security, you see. I can't have you setting fire to the wing just because you hope to catch one particular student unawares."

"What?" The boy shouts, a little too loudly for the time of night, "Fire? Where the hell did you get an idea like that? I'm not trying to set any fire, or catch anybody _unawares_!! I just want to know if Izzy made it back here ok!!" Having heard quite enough, Bill decides it's time to intervene, and pushes the portrait open.

The blonde boy, the blonde _Slytherin_, on the other side jumps as the redhead steps out, backing away nervously like he might be planning a run for it. Fortunately, Bill recognizes him, giving the younger student a friendly smile as he says, "I know you. Izzy's friend, right? What's your name again?"

"Um" The boy replies warily, distracted as he leans around Bill to get a peek into the common room, "I'm Cale. Cale Eyret. Sorry to bother you, but is Izzy in the tower?"

Bill frowns, "I haven't seen her. Why do you ask?" The Slytherin abandons his pointless struggle to see for himself is the girl is behind the older boy, finally getting around to actually noticing who he's talking to, assuming from the red hair and freckles that it's a Weasley.

"Just, uh," He starts slowly, uncertain how to word his concerns without offending the Gryffindor, "Charlie was talking to her earlier, and she seemed freaked out, and then they walked off together, and... well, I just got a really bad feeling about it, and I couldn't sleep. I wanted to make sure she was ok."

Arching an eyebrow, Bill drawls dangerously, "Because you think Charlie did something to her?" Cale nods resolutely.

"Look," The redhead fumes, "I know he doesn't get along with Izzy, but he's my brother, and he's not some twisted psychopath!! Merlin, you punch one hole in one wall and it follows you the rest of your whole bloody life!!"

"I know he's your brother," Cale grits hotly back, choosing his response carefully, "And I know you want to believe the best about him, but I know what I saw. My gut is telling me something is wrong. Please, just check that she's ok."

A tense standoff ensues, blue eyes to brown as the boys glare at each other. The only thing that finally breaks them up is the Fat Lady giving an annoyed grumble of, "Oh, for Merlin's sake, she's not in the tower, alright!! She left with Charlie hours ago, and they haven't been back!! Now, would you _please_ leave me to my beauty sleep?"

"What?" Bill snaps, maneuvering the painting so that he's face to face with the woman within it. Cale adds hotly, "Did they say where they were going? What was he doing to her?"

"Arg," She growls in reply, "She didn't look like she was in danger, though Charlie was acting strangely. He said something about taking her for a drink."

"Hogsmeade," Cale announces gravely. Bill, running his fingers through his long hair as he tries to comprehend his little brother's stupidity, hopes what the hot-headed youth has done is nothing more than that. He desperately wants to believe that Charlie would never do anything to purposely hurt Izzy, anyone, really, but he's suddenly not so sure. As he turns, he mutters, "Stay here. I'll get Myron, and we'll go find them."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reviews are appreciated :)


	8. Part 8: Fire and Ice

Part 8 - Fire and Ice

"I'll kill him. I will fucking _kill him,_" Myron fumes as he, Bill, Cale, and (since they ran into him outside the library) Mac stalk quickly through the dark December night. Their destination is Hogsmeade, their aim to track down Charlie and Izzy. They hope that they're being paranoid, that the only bad things going on are breaking the curfew and leaving the grounds, but tense fear is threatening to become panic.

"Bill," Myron states furiously, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm against the heavy snowstorm, "If your brother hurt one hair on her head, I swear I'm going to fucking kill him. I'm sorry, I know we're mates and all, but I'm going to _KILL HIM!_"

The tall redhead in the pompom hat is barely listening to his friend. He's too busy praying that his little brother hasn't done something idiotic... or dangerous... or cruel. He may love Charlie, but Bill knows that he never, ever thinks about the consequences of his actions. The boy gets lucky sometimes, but, more often, those consequences usually end up coming back to bite him in the arse, both figuratively and literally (there was an incident in second year with a blast-ended skrewt he was hiding in his trunk).

"Cool it," Mac scolds his twin, hugging himself as he trudges through the knee deep snow, "Wait until we know he's actually done something wrong before you plot any homicides." Myron's only answer is a low, feral growl. He's far past possessing the patience to be reasoned with.

Cale is ahead of the group, anxious to find Izzy, to get rid of the horrible feeling in his gut that something is very, _very_ wrong.

xxXxx

Charlie Weasley's world has ceased to exist outside the meaty pound of fists against his body, and the bloody gurgles that bubble up from his throat as he tries to call out to Izzy.

He's been thoroughly worked over by the entire table of men he stupidly took on, each member taking his turn beating the hell out of the boy. His ribs are broken, and probably a few bones in his swollen, bloody face as well, and he's most likely suffering some severe internal bleeding from having the soft tissue of his abdomen mercilessly pummeled.

Charlie never thought he would ever be in this position. He's never had his arse kicked before, foolishly didn't even think it was possible, but now it's happening, and, while he can't say he doesn't deserve it, he wants it to stop.

Charlie is also suffering from an extremely battered ego and a cripplingly guilt-torn conscience.

"Had enough yet?" A nameless assailant taunts, earning a chuckle from the rest of the large, drunken mob. Charlie spits up blood, defiantly managing to get some on the attacker's shoes before stupidly, but bravely coughing, "Of what? Our little tickle fight?"

All he gets in reply is another punch to the kidney. His knees buckle, and if it weren't for the man behind him holding him up by his horribly contorted arms, he would crumble to a heap on the ground.

Eyes watering and head spinning, Charlie spends the few precious seconds of refuge from the punches choking on blood, trying to catch his breath, and scanning the room for any sign of Izzy. It's his fault that she's in danger, and it's his fault that he can't do anything to help her, and it's his fault if _anything_ happens to her.

He doesn't get too long to dwell on it, however, as his beating once again gets under way.

xxXxx

She's being carried down a dark, narrow hallway. In her drunken haze, it feels like the walls are closing in around her, and add to the feeling that she's being crushed as the thick arm around her waist tightens and the broad hand over her mouth brings her air supply to a dangerous trickle.

Nestor laughs, a gruff, deep sound that sends tremors through her whole body. "Here we are," He taunts as he stops in front of a dingy gray door, his lips right up against her ear, wet, and hot, and vile, and she wants to throw up. She wants the filth off her body.

He pauses to fumble around in his pocket, coins jangling merrily as he searches. When he finds a small silver key, a triumphant smile on his handsome face, he puts it into his closed fist, and punches his captive hard in the head.

Her lip splits, as does the flesh across her cheek bone, and her right eye goes completely black. She almost passes out, staying conscious only through sheer will power. Her whole head throbs painfully, but the hand still over her mouth prevents a scream, sealing out the oxygen her body is starving for.

Nestor seems amused by her attempts to free herself, and laughs, then pauses to bury his face into her neck, sucking and biting viciously as he gropes her small breasts.

And she vomits, his hand preventing the hot, burning liquid from exiting her mouth. It fills her nose, not finding escape there either before it floods down her windpipe, choking her, the acidic scorch felt through her entire body, every nerve ending on fire.

She can't breathe, and she can't see, and she cries, and flails, and kicks, and-

"FUCK!!" Her heel finally manages to connect with Nestor's groin. The purely accidental stroke of luck brings the burly boy to his knees, whimpering as his arm goes slack, and Izzy falls out of his grasp.

Their bodies hit the ground at the same moment, two dull thuds echoing through the dark, grey hallway as they each lay in their private agony. Nestor is moaning, and groaning, and tenderly cupping his privates. Izzy is bug-eyed, writhing on the ground as she gasps and coughs and chokes the bile from her lungs, clawing at the uneven floorboards as she tries to drag herself away, streaking the rotten wood with bloody scratch marks.

"_Bitch_," The Slytherin hisses, his voice several octaves higher than normal. He's unable to move, or see straight, or think about anything but the pain, and killing the little _bitch_ who caused it.

Izzy doesn't care. Still oxygen-deprived and wheezing pitifully, she struggles to her hands and knees, and forces her tired, aching body to crawl towards safety. She can't let herself be violated. Not again. She'd rather die than go through it again.

And then she's suddenly tumbling headfirst down the staircase, having completely missed the fact that it was there in her drunken terror. The steps cut into her head and back and arms as she falls, getting bashed against the sharp, splintered corners. She's helpless to stop the dizzying descent.

She lands hard on the floor of the bar, her back colliding with solid wood, the commotion in the room assaulting her senses. The wind knocked out of her, she spends a few precious seconds trying to force herself remember how to breathe.

Before she succeeds, she's out the door.

She's not cold, even though her breath hangs frozen in front of her face. The snow is blinding, stark white shining through the inky black of night. Flying ice crystals cut into the exposed skin of her legs, and arms, and face, whipping her loose, torn, bloody clothing around her small body before she collapses beside the entryway.

Her eyes roll back into her head, her breathing slows, and her body goes numb, getting lost as the falling snow hides her from the world, cradling her small, curled form as she drifts away from the pain.

xxXxx

"Rosmerta said she hasn't seen them," Mac reports as he meets up with the three other boys in the middle of Hogsmeade's main road. Stomping his feet and hugging himself to keep warm, the Ravenclaw adds, "But she said she'd keep an eye out, and send them straight back to the castle if they try to come in."

"I didn't see any sign of 'em near the Shrieking Shack," Myron grunts angrily, still scanning the whited-out street for any glimpse of the wayward pair, "But I don't think he could get her in there anyways. Toothpick said once that the place freaked her out." After a shaky exhale, a cloud of mist hangs in front of his face, and he threatens, "I'm gonna kill him."

Bill nods, not even bothering to tell Myron that he won't let him kill his brother. If they ever find the moron, Bill might just have to kill Charlie himself, "The alleys are empty. Me and Cale each checked one side of the street, and they weren't in any of them."

"What about that place?" Cale asks, nodding towards a dimly lit building at the far end of the town. The Slytherin is freezing his arse off, his nose, and ears, and cheeks are numb, but he won't give up. He has to find Izzy.

Bill frowns as he follows Cale's gaze, "The Hog's Head? Even Charlie's not stupid enough to go in there after dark."

"Actually," Mac announces, for once wishing his curly hair was as long as his twin's so that it would keep his head warmer, "He just might be. Let's check it out."

The foursome immediately sets off towards the rickety building, quickly and silently trampling through deep snow, battling with the blizzard winds and the bitter cold. As soon as they get within twenty feet, they can hear the sounds of a brawl from inside the establishment, and frantically sprint the remaining distance.

Bill is the first inside, throwing open the door and finding himself smack dab in the middle of a wild bar fight. The room reeks of beer, and sweat, and vomit, and blood, and he immediately has to dodge a punch aimed at his head.

The other boys follow, their senses and bodies assaulted in much the same manner as they look over the chaotic scene.

And then there he is, Charlie Weasley. None of them would have recognized him if it wasn't for his flaming red hair. His face is a battered, bloody, butchered mess, and the stocky boy can't even hold himself up anymore, looking to be on the verge of passing out. The dozen or so men who are taking turns beating the hell out of him don't really seem to notice, or care.

"Charlie! Oh, fuck!" Bill gasps, fighting to get to his little brother's side, "GET OFF HIM!!" The man holding the boy's arms turns just in time to see a freckled fist flying towards his head, then slumps limply to the floor, knocked completely unconscious by a blow to the temple.

Charlie falls flat on his face, gasping, and wheezing, and choking as he attempts to push himself up on weak arms. Mac and Cale put themselves between the two Weasleys and the drunken men who want to pummel them. Tenderly, Bill falls to his knees beside his brother, pushing him back down as he calms, "Don't try to move. You're really hurt." The boy would like nothing more than to listen to Bill, to close his eyes and sleep, but he can't. Izzy's still in danger somewhere and it's his fault. Barely able to hold back the tears, he tries to tell his brother, "Izzy..."

"Lie still," Bill says quietly, trying to get the boy to rest, in awe of the beating he received and the fact that he's still conscious, "Where is she?" The other three boys lean closer in anticipation of an answer, but the only thing they get is a weak, blood-choked, "I-I don't know." All their hearts sink.

"HEY!!" Myron screams furiously, jumping on a table in the very center of the room, and shattering a glass against the far wall to get the attention of all the drunken, brawling patrons. As soon as the rest of the scattered fights die down and it's mostly quiet, he demands, "WHERE'S THE GIRL??"

"You mean the mudblood whore?" One of the men who had been beating Charlie, apparently a bold drunk, laughs. Seeing his chance, Myron leaps down from his perch on the table, perfectly aware that all eyes are on him as he stalks towards the man.

As soon as he gets up close, he recognizes him as a Slytherin who graduated almost two years ago. That doesn't stop the young Gryffindor from grabbing the larger man by the collar of his shirt, and slamming him hard against a thick wooden pillar. "Where. Is. She." He hisses again, danger in his voice.

Shocked, the man says nothing, opening and closing his mouth as he struggles in the enraged teen's grasp. He looks to his friends, trying to silently elicit some help in escaping from the maniac. None of them are willing to come to his aid, hanging back and trying to look innocent.

"I'm only gonna ask _one more time,_" Myron growls, "WHERE IS SHE??" The man licks his lips and doesn't answer, but his eyes quickly dart to a set of stairs near the door. Myron doesn't look away from him, merely yelling, "Upstairs! Mac, she's upstairs!!"

"On it," His twin chimes, grabbing Cale by the elbow and pulling the boy with him to search the upper rooms, praying silently that none of the horrible scenarios running through his mind are happening.

Done with the drunk, Myron punches him in the head, letting go of the man's shirt and letting him collapse heavily to the floor.

Breathing hotly, his olive-skinned flushed dark with rage, he then turns to the remainder of the men who had been beating Charlie, hissing in a low, dangerous, almost eerie whisper, "I suggest you _run_, because I'm gonna _kill_ whoever I catch." The drunks scatter like a flock of pigeons, grabbing their unconscious friend, and shoving each other over to get out the door. Bill is absolutely stunned by the whole incident. Myron has always been goofy, and incredibly laid-back. This mood shift is frightening, and a testament to just how protective the loyal Gryffindor is of little Izzy Cooper.

"_You,_" Myron growls, turning his venomous glare to Charlie. Still choking and barely able to move, the redhead suddenly finds the strength to scramble away from the older boy. "_You,_" Myron continues, quickly overtaking Charlie's attempt at escape, hauling him up off the ground by the collar, and slamming him into a wall hard enough to shake the entire, now deserted room.

"Don't hurt him," Bill warns as he runs to head off Myron's tirade. He never thought he would have to keep Myron from exploding, and it's unsettling that he now finds himself in that position.

"Much as he deserves it," Myron grunts, "I'm not gonna hurt the little shit. Not yet anyways. I wanna know _exactly_ what he did to Toothpick, so I can decide whether or not I need to _kill him_."

Kind of curious himself, Bill shrugs, "Sounds good to me. What happened, Charlie?"

Squeezing his eyes shut to fight the disgust he's feeling with himself, the boy whispers inaudibly, "I tricked her into coming out with me, and then spiked her drinks..."

"_What?_" Myron snarls dangerously, his knuckles white as the grip he has on the boy's shirt tightens, pounding him once more into the wall.

"I-AH!" Charlie answers, his body wracked with pain from the vicious jolt, his voice quavering from the strain of trying not to break down sobbing, "I tricked her into coming here with me, giving her some crap about wanting to be friends, and then I spiked her drinks!! I just wanted her to get in trouble, but then she-she started crying, and I tried to take her back, but those guys came over, and then I tried to help her, but they grabbed me!! She was screaming, but I couldn't find her, and then she was just gone..."

Myron's arms are shaking, and he's grinding his teeth so hard that it's all that can be heard in the tense silence that has enveloped the room. His green eyes bore into Charlie's downcast blue ones. Bill doesn't know what to say. Never in a million years did he think his brother was capable of something so... so... despicable!

Loud thuds echoing down the staircase manage to distract all of them from each other, and they turn just in time to see a huge body come tumbling into sight, groaning as he lays sprawled on the filthy ground.

Mac and Cale come trampling down a few minutes later, kicking the man as they step over him. "He attacked her!!" Cale shouts, pissed and frightened, "He attacked Izzy! He was trying to _rape her!!!_" As he releases Charlie from his grasp, Myron's face pales and he shrieks, "WHAT?" The beaten redhead closes his eyes again, and a few tears finally escape.

No one notices. Mac is still scowling at the pathetic specimen of human being on the floor as he explains, "She got away. We found him in the hall, still on the ground because she managed to kick him while he was dragging her into a room."

"I know him," Bill mutters, staring hard at the wheezing, brown-haired man. Cale nods, "Name's Nestor. He's a seventh year, for the third year in a row. He's our beater, and a sicko."

"WHERE IS SHE?" Myron screams, closing a fist in the man's hair and yanking hard. Nestor winces, his handsome face contorted in pain as he spits, "I don't fuckin' know. The little bitch kicked me, and then ran off. When you find her, let me know. We got some _unfinished business._"

It takes ten minutes for the other boys to pull Myron off of Nestor, only managing to succeed because Mac and Bill both tackle him to the floor.

"MY!!!" His twin shouts, trying to avoid bloody fists as the young man struggles to go back and beat the unconscious Slytherin some more, "GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!!! WE STILL HAVE TO FIND IZZY!!!"

"Toothpick..." He finally gasps, realizing that he's just wasted precious time on his anger. Releasing his now calmed friend, Bill sits back up and sighs, "Ya, Toothpick. We don't know where she is."

"The little girl?" The old man behind the bar, looking completely unaffected by the carnage that just took place in his establishment, asks gruffly. Mac nearly pounces on him, "Yes! Yes! She's a little girl! Brown hair, brown eyes, only about..." He pauses to hold a hand up to Izzy's height, "This big... Do you know where she went?"

Scratching his tangled gray beard, the man nods towards the staircase, then the door, "Fell down those steps, then ran outside. I remember because I tried to stop her. Don't usually make it my policy to meddle in the affairs of others, but... uh... she seemed scared, and didn't have a coat on..."

"Out _there?_" Myron chokes, jumping to his feet, and sprinting madly towards the door, "She's in that fucking blizzard? She'll freeze to death!!" Cale barely remembers to utter a curt, "Thank you," to the bartender as he and the others follow, Charlie limping last in the line.

"TOOTHPICK!!!!!" Oblivious to his split and bleeding knuckles, Myron screams up and down the street, searching for the lost girl, "ISABEL COOPER!!!! ANSWER ME!!!" In a few seconds he's joined by Mac, and Bill, and Cale, the group spreading out as they yell various forms of, "IZZY!!! WHERE ARE YOU??"

Holding his aching sides and struggling to breathe, Charlie leans against the doorjamb. This whole night has been a disaster, and most certainly the biggest mistake of his entire life. It wasn't supposed to be like this, and he's not sure he's going to be able to live with himself if Izzy isn't found safe...

He tries to walk outside to join the search, however, as soon as his foot hits them, he realizes that the steps are covered in ice. Unable to keep his precarious balance, he slips and falls hard into the snow just beside the entryway.

And then he's on his back, groaning from the impact on his ribs, looking up into the dark storm clouds, knowing for a fact that, if there is a hell, he's going to burn in it. Disgusted with himself, he turns his head away from the sky.

That's when he notices the wild amber curls half buried in the snow bank. "BILL!!" He screams, immediately rolling off the spot where he believes Izzy is buried, digging furiously to get her out, "SHE'S HERE!! SHE'S HERE!!"

Charlie can hear the others shouting as they crunch through the fallen snow, but even before they arrive by his sides he manages to excavate most of the frozen girl.

And she looks absolutely horrifying. With her soaked clothing clinging to her slight body, she's taken on an almost skeletal appearance, the bloody snow beneath her like martyr's halo, an aura of pain she never deserved. One entire side of her pale face is swollen, and it only takes a second to for Charlie to realize that someone hit her, hard. Her blue lips are split open, blood frozen in a thin dribble down her chin and throat, staining her torn uniform shirt. The boy cringes visibly, his stomach churning when he notices the bites and bruises all over her neck.

There is no movement from her curled body, not a shiver, not a breath, not a even flutter of an eyelid...

"Toothpick," Myron gasps as he falls to his knees and frantically uncovers the girl's bare, blue tinged legs. Carefully, the stunned young man pulls her into his lap, oblivious to the gashes on her back, almost breaking down into sobs because she doesn't even flinch when he touches her. "She's so cold..." He whispers, tenderly cradling her battered, colorless face in his palm as his eyes water, "We... We walked right by her..."

Lost, he looks to his brother, who has knelt down to take Izzy's pulse from her frail neck. Myron may be the older twin, but Mac has always been the smarter one, the leader, and he always knows what to do. "M-Mac?" The boy asks in a frightened stutter, glad that his near mirror-image understands the plea, and instructs evenly, "She's alive. Take her inside." Like a zombie, the stunned youth carries out the command, carefully carries Izzy's stiff, frozen body into the warmth of the pub.

"Holy shite," The gray-haired old man grunts, running out from behind the bar as he sees Myron enter holding the unconscious girl, "Where was she?"

"Just outside the door," Mac says, "My, go sit with her by the fire. Hold her against your chest, inside your jacket, and try to get her to wake up. Be _very_ gentle." He turns back to the bartender, "Sir, we would really appreciate some blankets, and the use of an owl, so we can write the school, to get our nurse to her as quickly as possible."

"Ya," The man mutters, his gaze following Myron as the boy sits down beside the dying fire, Cale immediately stoking the embers into a roaring blaze, "Of course. I tried to stop her from going out... didn't know they were hurting her... it just gets so busy... can't keep track of everyone, ya know..."

After Mac and the bartender leave, Bill helps Charlie drag himself in from the steps. The boy tries to deposit his weak and battered brother beside the fire, but Myron, never taking his eyes off of Izzy's pale blue face or bringing his voice above the tender whisper he's been using to coax her into waking, immediately threatens, "If you want that to live, don't put it anywhere near me." Thinking it unwise to argue with his friend while he's in his current condition, Bill moves Charlie to the other side of the room.

"Toothpick," Myron coos gently, hugging Izzy's body inside his jacket as he rocks her, rubbing her waxy, frozen skin, and almost sobbing as he brushes ice crystals off her bruised, bloody cheeks, "Toothpick, it's My. Wake up. You're safe now. Just wake up, please wake up..."

For a long time, Myron's efforts continue, but in vain. The girl in his arms remains motionless, ice-cold, and barely breathing. It's a tense, desperate, uncertain time. They all know that there is a chance that she won't make it, and that common fear has all their hearts feeling just as frozen as the girl's little body.

Mac returns, carrying an armful of blankets and reporting that he's owled the school as he once again checks Izzy's pulse. With a relieved but still concerned sigh, he informs his brother, "She's getting a little better, but we need to get her out of the wet clothes."

"Are you kidding?" Cale cuts in, "She'll flip! She has a thing about being touched anyways, plus she was almost just _raped!_" The blonde boy pauses to glare at Charlie before continuing, "When she wakes up..."

"She's _severely hypothermic_," Mac snaps, cutting off the argument, "If we don't get her warm, she _won't_ wake up."

"What about a drying charm?" Bill suggests, also wary of the proposed plan of action, "Kid's right. She'll freak out."

Sighing, Mac explains, "We can't use any magic on her! Her heart will be extremely sensitive, and anything that makes it beat any faster could flood cold blood from her limbs into it. She's weak. It would be enough to stop her heart."

Myron makes a slight whimpering noise, and his twin puts a soothing hand on his shoulder, continuing, "The best way to warm her up, is to put someone else's skin against hers. That means we have to get at least most of her clothes off. I know it seems weird, but it could mean the different between her living and dying."

"Give me a blanket then," Myron says, resigned to doing whatever is necessary to save the girl, even if she never talks to him again, "I'll do it, but I'm keeping her covered.

Mac nods, handing over the mangy scrap of flannel he got from the bartender, "Good plan."

xxXxx

Ever since she drifted into the comforting blackness that's surrounding her, Izzy Cooper has had no real desire to fight her way out. It's nice here, where she doesn't have to think, or feel, or remember, and she's decided that it wouldn't be a terrible place to stay.

Voices call for her, urging her out, to fight, to wake, to open her eyes, but she doesn't want to listen. It's too hard, too hard to fight, to wake, to open her eyes, to live her life. She tries to tell them, tries to make them understand that she's happy where she is, that it doesn't hurt, and it's not scary at all, but they won't listen. And then, before she knows it, she's being pulled from soothing, dark nothingness, hurled violently back into reality, to stabbing cold, to blinding light, to crippling fear, to mental anguish that will never, ever go away...

The first thing she realizes, is that she's naked, and that someone else's bare skin is all pressed against hers. Tensing immediately, she tries to scream and fight him off, but raw vocal cords don't permit anything besides a ragged, strangled shriek. Her limbs feel heavy, shivering violently and unwilling to obey when she wills them to punch, and kick, and _fight_.

"Shhh," She hears, the voice soothing her as it's owner holds her tighter, more searing hot skin making her own prickle with waves of burning cold needles, "Toothpick, you have to stay still. You're safe now, I promise."

Still quite drunk, it takes a moment for her to figure out who's talking, and then her response is a slurred, frantic, "M-My? My, lemme go!"

"Sweetie," He answers kindly as he cradles her against his bare chest, rocking her through body wracking shakes, "You're sick from the cold. I have to hold you until you get warmed up. You'll feel better, I promise. I'm not gonna do anything but warm you up."

"NO!!" She argues, unable to stop herself from breaking down into tears as she struggles to get free, the pain and fear too much for her, "No, no, no! Lemme go! Please, lemme go!"

Myron holds her tighter, resting his chin on the top of her head as he hums to calm the frightened little girl, responding quietly, "I'm sorry. I can't." The boy is grateful that he has his back to the others in the room because when Izzy starts sobbing, so does he.

She writhes against him, but her meager strength fades quickly, leaving her with barely enough energy to whimper, and plead, "S-Stop... Please, stop... I-It hurts... I don't want to..." She begins to hyperventilate, her eyes rolling back into her head as her consciousness tries to retreat within itself.

"Toothpick, no," Myron demands, shaking her lightly, but forcefully, "No, you have to stay awake. Stay awake. Talk to me, cry, scream if you want to, but you can't sleep."

Despite the fact that it's the last thing she wants to do, Izzy listens, crying so hard that she starts to hiccup and choke, beating her small fists against Myron's chest as she does her best to kick, and struggle, and free herself.

Cale, and Mac, and Bill, and Charlie look on silently while Myron tries to comfort Izzy, rocking the small girl, whispering soothing words, and even singing for a bit. All their hearts are breaking as she merely cries in his arms, futilely fighting the boy trying to save her life, begging him to let her go, to _please_ stop touching her.

Unable to watch the tragic display any longer, Bill turns to his brother, glaring until the other redhead hangs his head in shame. "Are you happy now?" The eldest Weasley hisses, very clear about how completely Charlie is to blame for this situation, "Did you get what you wanted?"

Not bothering to look up, the boy shakes his head, ashamed.

xxXxx

The next morning, a hundred different versions of the same distorted rumor are circulating through the Hogwarts student body as its members prepare to leave for Christmas vacation.

By the time one of such rumors manages to make it the outside of the hospital wing, just within earshot of the distraught and severely sleep deprived Mac Wallace, it sounds something like, "Did you hear? Charlie Weasley and Izzy Cooper have been sleeping together for months! He broke up with her last night, and she got drunk and tried to kill herself!"

Unable to contain his frustration and rage any longer, the tall boy is in the hallway and towering over a pair of Hufflepuffs within just seconds. "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AND STOP SPREADING LIES!!!" He shouts at the top of his lungs, making the two unfortunate girls jump and flee, chattering back and forth about what a lunatic he is even before they're out of earshot. Sighing in frustration, Mac leans against a wall, letting himself slide slowly down to grasp his head in his shaking hands.

Myron managed to keep Izzy awake and warm while they waited out the hours it took for Madame Pomfrey to arrange a safe way to transport her to the school. The little girl fought though, as hard as she could in her weakened state, and Mac knows that he's never going to forget how utterly terrified she sounded as she sobbed into his twin's unwanted embrace, how she drunkenly pleaded with him to stop touching her, how she kept deliriously lapsing into dialogue that didn't make sense, crying that she didn't want to play the 'special game'...

_"...S-Stop. Please. I don't want to. Please. Please. I-It hurts too much..."_

Mac is a smart young man. He's always suspected that Izzy was abused. Listening to her last night confirmed those suspicions, and his heart aches for the little girl.

Almost as soon as she was brought into the hospital wing, just when they all thought that everything would be finally be alright, Izzy had a massive seizure. Charlie put enough liquor in the drinks he was feeding her to give her alcohol poisoning. Being frozen slowed down her metabolism so much that the effects didn't start to show until hours later, and by then it was too late. Ironically, Myron warming her was what caused the poison to finally be released into her system.

And now she won't wake up.

And it's not certain if she's going to at all.

Madame Pomfrey has been frantically trying to heal Izzy's frail body, trying to counteract tissue and heart damage from having been exposed to the cold, as well as a yet unknown amount of brain death from the seizure. If Pomfrey can't figure out how to undo the severe damage, Izzy could very well die.

"Hey," Mac hears, not bothering to pick his head up as a body slides down the wall to sit beside him. From the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of red, and instantly knows that it's Bill. Charlie has been with Dumbledore since the majority of his injuries were healed. Besides, he may be an idiot, but the boy is smart enough to know that if he comes within three feet of either of them, he's going to be mauled to death by a Wallace twin.

"Hey," Mac responds wearily, "How is she?" Bill sighs, closing his eyes as he leans his head back against the wall and gravely reports, "No change."

A long silence ensues, broken when Bill stutters, "How... How could he do that do her?" It's been on the redhead's mind since he realized what his little brother had done, the cruelty he's capable of. He doesn't want to believe that Charlie is a monster, but there's little way around that conclusion now, here in the aftermath.

"I don't know," Mac responds weakly, "I really don't." Bill doesn't know either, and isn't sure that he wants to. He isn't sure of anything anymore, not even if he'll ever be able to look his little brother in the eyes ever again.

xxXxx

Christmas Eve at the Burrow has never been as tense and depressing as it is this year. Even the younger children know something is wrong. Ginny cried the first time she saw the mess left of Charlie's face, and the twins haven't dared play a single prank on Bill, seeming genuinely afraid of the dark mood he's in.

It's been almost a week since her seizure, and Izzy still hasn't woken up. Charlie was sent home on the train with the other students, but Bill and the Wallace's were allowed to stay at school, just sitting around in the hospital wing and praying for Izzy to open her eyes. However, the boys were all summoned home for Christmas Eve with their families. Myron had to be dragged off by his mother, _literally_ kicking and screaming as the woman pried him from the vigil he'd been keeping over Izzy that entire week, barely eating or sleeping as he waited for the girl to wake. They're going back tomorrow, but being away is hard. They all really want to be there when she wakes up.

Because he can't quite handle it at the moment, Bill stubbornly blocks out the negative voice inside his head that chimes quietly, _"If she wakes up..."_

Cale is still by her side, his parents not caring enough to want him home for the holiday, and he promised the other three boys frequent updates on Izzy's condition, which he's been delivering dutifully. Still, Bill feels awful, and he's been brooding quietly beside the tree ever since he arrived home. He should've gone to bed hours ago, like the rest of his siblings, but he can't find the will to drag himself all the way upstairs just to have to share a room with Charlie. He hasn't spoken to, or really even acknowledged his brother yet, and isn't sure that he wants to.

"Bill, dear," His mother coos worriedly as she leans over him, stroking his head, and, just because she can see how upset he is, holding back the request for him to let her cut his hair, "Do you want to talk about what happened? About the little girl? All Dumbledore would tell us was that there had been an accident... and that your brother caused it..."

Bitterly, the hunched boy bites back, "Why don't you ask _Charlie?_" In an instant, the soothing touch that he hadn't even realized was soothing is gone. His mother stands straight, hands on hips and face stern as she scolds, "William Arthur Weasley, I don't care how worried you are about your friend, don't you take that tone with me!"

His head hangs lower, and he sighs sadly, "Sorry, Mum. I didn't mean anything by it. I just... can't right now, ok?" She smiles kindly at him once more, tenderly cupping his face in her hands before giving him a kiss on the forehead as she answers, "Yes, dear. I understand. Whenever you're ready." She leaves him then, walking slowly up the stairs, stopping just out of his sightline to call back, "Don't stay up too late."

Alone again, Bill lets out a loud groan. He feels helpless, and scared, and anxious, and there's nothing he can do about it.

"Bill?" He hears a soft voice inquire some time later. The young man picks his head up and tries to smile warmly, though it comes out rather forced, "Hey, Perce. What're you doing up?"

His little brother sniffs sadly, rubbing watery blue eyes behind smudged glasses as he walks cautiously forward in too small pajamas that once belonged to Bill, and then Charlie. The boy looks awful, almost on the verge of tears, and Bill is instantly concerned.

"What's wrong?" He asks, letting his arm fall around Percy's bony shoulders as his little brother sits beside him.

"It was about the book, wasn't it?" He asks quietly, his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap, "I know it was, but Charlie wouldn't tell me." Bill frowns, confused, "Huh?"

"Whatever Charlie did to Izzy," The curly-haired youngster clarifies sadly, "It was about the book. I know it."

After thinking for a moment, Bill answers, "Well, I remember Charlie being mad about a book a few days before it happened..." Trailing off, something clicks in his head, and he asks Percy, as calm as he can force himself to be, "Why? What do you know about it?"

"Izzy didn't steal the book," The boy reports, his head hung low, "It was me. I had it, and Nestor Aubrey took it because I bumped into him, and I got scared that Charlie was gonna be mad. Izzy found out, and said that she would get it back for me, and she did, but that's when Charlie came over, and he thought she stole it, and he yelled at her a lot. I'm sorry. It was my fault."

The events leading up to the catastrophe suddenly make sense to Bill, what finally set off the culmination of the feud Charlie was having with Izzy, why Nestor attacked her...

"Well," He growls through clenched teeth, still trying to remain calm because Percy doesn't deserve to have Bill explode at him, "That was an awful thing you did. You shouldn't have let Izzy take the blame."

"I-I know," Percy responds, his head still hung low, "I didn't want to, and I told her so after. I told her I was gonna let Charlie know it was me, but she said not to, that it was better if he hated her because he already hated her, and it was better for brothers to get along because family is important, and nothing should ever come between them."

"Oh my god," Comes a voice from the bottom of the stairs. Charlie has been listening for long enough to feel even worse than he already did. She was telling the truth. She covered for his brother. She was trying to protect his family, because hers fell apart...

Bill glares, spitting venomously, "What do you want?" Pale, shaking, still aching all over from the beating that hasn't fully healed, and suddenly sick to his stomach, Charlie says softly, "I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean for any of this to happen... I'm so sorry."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to!" His brother shouts, angry again, jumping to his feet and stomping to stand before Charlie, barely resisting the urge to slap the boy, "You should be apologizing to Izzy, for torturing her for years, for accusing her of things she didn't do, for tricking her, and betraying her, and putting her in danger, and hurting her, and making it possible for that predator to violate her! But, you know what, even if I actually still believed you're _capable_ of feeling remorse, you can't apologize! And you might never be able to! She might never wake up! She might _die!_ Do you realize what you've done?"

And then the room is deathly quiet, an eerie occurrence in a place as normally happy and alive as the Burrow. Charlie is breathing hard, his shoulders shaking as he struggles to find the courage to look his brother in the eyes because he knows everything the young man just said is absolutely true.

Immediately, Bill regrets what he said, as true as it may be. He's never really seen Charlie cry before, and instantly understands that the boy does realize what he's done, that he does realize what he let his anger and hatred turn him into, and, most importantly, that he doesn't like it, that he really is sorry for letting it happen.

"I-I wasn't trying to hurt her," Charlie chokes, not looking anywhere near fifteen-years-old as his blue eyes shine with tears, "She was really drunk, and kept asking me if we could go back, but I said no, and that I wanted to know why she stole my book, and she denied it. So I asked her about my wand, and she got all upset, but then asked if I really wanted to know, and I said yes because I've been wondering about it forever. And, she started telling me all about her life! Bill, why didn't you say anything before? If I knew what happened to her I would've left her alone!!"

Gently, Bill informs, "Not that it should've made a difference to how you treated her, but I don't know anything about her life before Hogwarts. She's never told any of us... I can't believe she told _you_..."

With a bitter laugh, Charlie sinks to his knees, holding his head in his hands as he sobs, "I can't believe it either... She shouldn't have told me... I spent all those years torturing her, and she'd already been through so much... What did I do?"

And then Bill is on the floor beside his brother, wrapping his arms around the boy and hugging him tightly, watching in silence as Charlie weeps his twisted guilt and grief into a worn, red Weasley jumper.

xxXxx

Cale Eyret is definitely not used to merry Christmases. His parents never want him home, and he always spends his break lurking around Hogwarts with nothing but house-elves and a few professors to keep him company. The lanky blonde is lucky when he even has presents to open.

But, no matter how disappointing Christmas usually is, none of the previous years' empty holidays can even remotely compare to this one. Cale would much rather be forgotten and alone than be keeping a deathwatch over the girl he thinks could possibly the sweetest, kindest, loveliest person on earth.

He can barely look at her pale skin, her battered face, her bite covered neck without wanting to scream. It's just not fair. Izzy doesn't deserve any of this. She doesn't deserve spending her Christmas lying motionless in a cot, her body skeletal and frail as she's forced to flirt with death.

"Mr. Eyret," He hears, sighing as he turns to find Madame Pomfrey walking over, giving him a sympathetic half-smile as she continues, "It's Christmas Eve, and it's very late. Perhaps you should try to get some sleep?"

"No," The boy replies, groggily rubbing at his bloodshot brown eyes, "I'm fine. I promised Myron I wouldn't leave, and I want to be here if she wakes up."

The nurse puts one hand on his shoulder, trying to be supportive and understanding as she reports, "Dear, I'm sorry, but there's a good chance she's never going to wake up. My scans haven't picked up any brain activity for the last several days, and there's only so much I can do for her. No cures exist for brain death."

"Not true, Poppy," Both the boy and nurse jump, looking up to find Professor Snape standing in the doorway, one thin, bubbling vial of deep red liquid clenched tightly in his hands. With a wry smile, he walks farther into the room, his voice notably exhausted as he explains, "Through magic, anything can be cured. It is just a matter of being knowledgeable and dedicated enough to discover how."

The man has dark circles under his cold eyes; his skin is waxier, and his hair much greasier than usual. He's been working nonstop for a week, and now he's finally done it. He's finally concocted a cure for Izzy.

"Forgive me for taking such a long time with this," He says, making it unclear whether he's talking to Cale and Pomfrey, or Izzy as he delicately peels down the girl's cracked and swollen bottom lip, tipping the concoction into her open mouth, "It took me several days to work out the correct formula, and then I had to wait several more for a rare ingredient to arrive."

"She's gonna be ok?" Cale asks hopefully, his hands twitching as he anticipates being able to write the other boys with good news for once. Snape gives him a tired smile. He's been an absolute wreck since he heard what happened to Izzy. He's never forgotten what he saw in her mind just a few short years ago, and he's always had a soft spot for the shy little girl. After everything she's been through, he just wants her to be safe, and happy, and that is why he worked his arse off in order to save her life.

With an exhausted sigh, the Potions Master reports, "That is my hope, but we won't know until tomorrow morning. Let us pray for a miracle."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dun. Dun. DUUUUUUN.

Reviews are like candy: I like them a whole fucking lot. ;P


	9. Part 9: Absolution

Part 9 - Absolution

"Did you know that she has a brother?" It's Christmas morning at the Burrow, in that quiet limbo between the sun rising and the Weasleys waking to storm the tree.

However, two members of the family are already up: Bill and Charlie. They never went to sleep. Percy is passed out between them on the old couch, matted head of curly red hair on Charlie's knee, and gangly legs across Bill's lap, but the two eldest boys were not quite as lucky as their little brother.

They stayed up all night, talking a little, but mostly just sitting in the stillness, comforted by each other's presences while they mulled over their thoughts in silence.

Tiredly, Bill blinks over at his brother, trying not to disturb Percy as he asks, "Huh?"

"Izzy," Charlie clarifies, staring at his distorted reflection in a brilliant blue Christmas ornament hanging from the tree, "Did you know that she has a brother?"

"No," Bill says with a frown, "She does?"

"Ya," Charlie replies, still distracted and pensive, reaching out to just barely touch the warped version of himself on the lustrous surface of the decorative ball, "An older brother. She told me his name was Jordy, or Jordan, or something like that."

They spend a few more moments in silence, listening intently to the sounds of their old home groaning and creaking under the strain of staying standing. "She never mentioned him," Bill muses, watching Charlie stare down the twisted version of himself, glaring at the deformed reflection like he thinks it's the real him.

"He hit her, and he left her," The boy reports blankly, disgustedly turning away from the ornament and instead turning his gaze onto his older brother, "But she still loves him... why?"

Bill sighs, scratching at his long, slightly tangled hair as he scolds, "First of all, anything she told you, don't tell anyone else. They're not your secrets to be sharing."

At a guilty nod from Charlie, Bill continues, "Second, I think you know why she still loves her brother."

"Because he's her brother..." The boy mutters weakly, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he subconsciously rests a hand on top of Percy's head, running blunt fingertips through unnaturally soft curls.

Thundering footsteps on the stairs give way to an elated chorus of, "MERRY CHRISTMAS!!"

"Presents!!" Ginny cries happily, riding one twin as the other takes a flying leap onto the couch, landing hard on Percy, making him yelp grumpily as he attempts to fight his way out from under the giggling mass of pale, freckled flesh.

Ron hops recklessly to the bottom of the steps, clutching at his mother's hand as she struggles to keep him from falling down. "Can we open presents, Mummy?" He asks, the little seven-year-old so excited that he's practically twitching.

"Of course," The woman chuckles, her broad, kind face splitting into an affectionate grin. Mr. Weasley stumbles up behind her a few seconds later, yawning hugely and fumbling with the tie on his threadbare, blue bathrobe as he comments, "You know, those presents will still be there at around, say, noonish."

Mrs. Weasley swats Ron on the behind as he dives into a pile of packages, chuckling, "Arthur, you know very well that it's not _really_ Christmas until the children wake us at an ungodly hour."

The man smiles tiredly, sweetly giving his wife a peck on the mouth as he agrees, "Quite right, dear. How could I have forgotten?"

"Heavens, did you sleep down here last night?" Their mother shrieks as she notices Bill and Charlie still on the couch. At her scandalized expression, Bill grins, "Of course not. We didn't sleep."

Charlie puts on a weak smile, the first on that's been on his face in quite awhile, and, winking at Ginny with his least swollen eye, he comments, "We were trying to catch Santa Claus, but the slippery bastard got away again. For a fat guy, he sure is fast."

Though his baby sister giggles, his mother is not amused, glaring as she scolds, "Language!" Quite happy that Ginny no longer seems to be afraid of the horrible condition his face is in, Charlie just smiles, his split lip stretching painfully as he chimes, "Sorry, Mum."

A sickening SMACK from the kitchen immediately has Bill on his feet, dumping Percy and whichever twin was refusing to get off of him onto the floor as he shouts, "That'll be for me!"

"Izzy..." Charlie gasps, realizing that the sound must've been an owl hitting the window, and that it must have a letter with another update on the girl's condition. He also leaps to his feet, nearly tripping over his two brothers wrestling on the floor as he sprints after Bill.

In the kitchen, Bill already has the parchment unrolled, and is being pecked by an unhappy owl as he hurriedly scans it for information. Incredibly impatient, Charlie tries to read over his shoulder, only to be pushed away.

With a relieved sigh, Bill picks his head up and smiles.

xxXxx

"How... How do you feel?" Cale asks, a huge grin on his face as he bounces on the balls of his feet, nervous, excited energy coursing through his lanky body.

Barely having been awake for a full minute, Izzy groans, rubbing her head and attempting to push herself up, only to find that her arms are too weak and shaky to manage it. "Like I got hit by a train," She mumbles in a low rasp, flopping back into the bed and wincing as her swollen lip burns from the act of speaking. After gingerly letting her hands run over the damage on her aching face, and neck, and stomach, she asks softly, "What happened to me?"

"You mean you don't remember?" The blonde boy asks, unsettled and definitely not wanting to be the one to have to remind her of the horrible ordeal she went through.

Izzy thinks hard, screwing up her features in concentration as she reports slowly, "Well... I remember talking to you... and... Charlie Weasley..."

Her eyes go wide as everything comes flooding back, how she was drinking, how she started feeling funny, how she spilled her guts to the redhead, how she was cornered by that group of men, and...

"Oh my god," She gasps, curling into a ball and squeezing her eyes shut against nausea as she remembers the hands all over her body, the obscenities whispered into her ear, almost being dragged into that room and raped yet again...

"Shhh," Cale calms kneeling down beside her, trying to stroke her hair in a comforting way, but pulling back the second she whimpers at his touch, "It's ok, you're safe now. You fought him off. He didn't... You kicked him in the balls, Iz, and you got away... You're gonna be alright."

The girl feels filthy and violated from the attack, but, even more than that, she feels betrayed by what Charlie Weasley did. He lied to her, and she trusted him, she let herself be tricked, and now she has to relive the pain of her childhood all over again.

She feels like an idiot for ever believing that he wanted to be her friend.

"Cale," The girl whimpers, turning her back on the blonde boy, not wanting him to see her cry, to see her so weak and _pathetic_, "I know you're trying to help, but could you... leave me alone for awhile?"

"Oh, um," He replies, slightly taken aback, "Sure. Ya. I'll just go... uh... let Madame Pomfrey know that you're up, and owl Mac and Myron. And Bill, too." He doesn't want to leave her, but he also doesn't want to force her to let him stay.

"Thank you," She says, listening until she hears the door close behind him, and then completely breaking down, sobbing uncontrollably into her pillow.

xxXxx

"Hi, Myron," Izzy says, directing a shy smile at the boy standing uncertainly at the other side of the hospital wing. It's late, and he and his brother just arrived, but while Mac practically bounded into the room with a huge, relieved grin on his face, Myron is just hanging out in the doorway.

He can't even describe how happy he was when he got the letter saying that his little Toothpick was awake, that she would make a full recovery, but he's not sure if she's going to ever want to speak to him again after what he did. He doesn't regret his actions for a minute, especially since they saved her life, but the boy doesn't want her to hate him for it. He couldn't handle saving her only to lose her again.

"Hey, Toothpick," He replies, grinning despite his anxiety, "Feeling better?" With her frail body propped up by mountains of pillows in the hospital cot, the girl sends him a bright, only slightly pained smile as she replies, "Yes, thank you."

After a few moments of tense silence, Izzy waves for the boy to come into the room, joking sweetly, "For Merlin's sake, My, get your butt over here. I know my face looks terrible, but it can't be _that_ scary."

"Toothpick," He replies with a jovial, relieved laugh, crossing the length of the infirmary in only three long strides, "The only time you're even remotely scary is when you stop breathing on me!"

"My!" She shrieks, her voice still raw and scratchy as she scolds with a giggle, "That's not funny! I almost _died!_"

"You don't have to remind me, I was there," He replies, grinning as he sits down in the vast area of empty space on her bed, sounding up beat but completely serious as he demands with a wagging finger, "Don't you ever stop your heart on me again!!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," She quips back, smirking, "I don't really fancy waking up in another naked bear hug." Myron chuckles uncomfortably, turning red as he self-consciously rubs the back of his neck, "Yeah, sorry about that, Toothpick, but I wasn't about to let you freeze to death."

"Don't be sorry," Izzy replies, yawning tiredly but smiling anyways, "You saved my life. Thank you."

Myron grins, unable to stop as he watches the girl's eyelids slowly drooping, "Not a problem. Now, get some sleep."

"But 'M not tired," She slurs, already half unconscious as she snuggles into her blankets, "And it's Christmas. I haven't gotten anyone presents yet."

"Worry about it tomorrow," Mac says, smiling as he returns from talking to Madame Pomfrey, "You need your rest."

"Ya," Cale agrees, sprawled out in the next cot, "And so do I."

Izzy hums an agreement, content in her physical safety as she lets her mind slip into the terrifying realm of depression and nightmares.

xxXxx

_"Jordy, isn't your sister just the prettiest little thing in the world?" Uncle Richie asks, winking at the hunched toddler from across the dinner table. Her hands are shaking so badly that she can't eat, not that the nausea she's feeling would allow her to anyways. The way her uncle looks at her makes it too hard to block out what he did to her just hours ago._

_Jordy, thinking nothing of the comment, grins widely, reaching out to ruffle his baby sister's hair as he agrees, "Of course she is! Izzy's perfect!"_

_"Ah! Don't!" The girl whimpers, shrinking away from her brother's touch, sending her plate crashing to the floor and clumsily knocking over her chair as she runs crying from the room._

_"Izzy!" She hears Jordy call after her, sounding worried and confused. However, before he can get up from his seat, Uncle Richie stops him, stating, "It's ok, Jor. Stay and finish eating. I'll see what's wrong with her." Sobbing, the little girl desperately flees, struggling up the stairs to her room. She dives under her bed, curling her small body against the wall in an attempt to hide._

_The footsteps coming up the staircase are loud, and slow, and calm, and she tries to keep her whimpers quiet. A groaning squeak and then a click, the sounds of the doorknob spinning, are painfully loud, and chillingly ominous, especially when the door gently closes a few seconds later._

_"Isabel," He says, his voice deep and almost kind, "Isabel, that was a very bad thing you did at dinner. Good girls don't behave like that."_

_She's trying so hard to quiet her crying that it hurts, her lungs aching and her head spinning, and Uncle Richie goes on, "My good little Isabel doesn't behave like that. Understand?"_

_She prays for him to just go away, to leave her alone, but he stays, and she knows that there is no God. At two, Isabel Cooper already knows that there is no God. But she can feel the blonde demon's anger simmering in the silent absence of her response. "Answer me, Isabel!" He demands gruffly._

_And then his hand closes over her ankle, and she's pulled out from under the bed. She's pressed back on the lace and ruffle covered mattress, his hand over her mouth so fast that she doesn't even get a chance to scream, sobbing and struggling and shaking, already having clothing ruthlessly torn from her small body. The little girl sees his grin and her blood runs cold, already bracing herself for what's about to come as he coos, "I'll show you what happens to bad girls..."_

xxXxx

"NO!" Izzy shrieks, forcing her mind from her nightmare and back into her cold, aching body. Breathing hard, she glances around the dark Gryffindor common room, calming herself by looking over at Myron's body spread out on the floor in front of the couch she's on, trying to get her breathing to match the sleeping boy's slow, relaxed rhythm. On another couch across from hers, Cale groggily mumbles a rather colorful string of swear words directed at dehydrated carrots. Mac, passed out in an armchair with the book he was reading open across his chest, grunts in reply.

She takes comfort from the fact that the boys have barely left her side since she woke up; Mac and Cale even sweet-talked their way into the Gryffindor common room against school rules. It feels nice to know that they're there watching out for her, that they actually care about her, but that doesn't stop the nightmares.

Four weeks have passed since Izzy was attacked, two since she was allowed to leave the hospital wing, and, while her face is still dominated by a deep purple bruise, the hickies and bite marks on her neck aren't quite faded, and she can't manage to ever get warm, the girl is slowly on the road to recovery. The potion Snape gave her, the composition of which she delighted in discussing with her favorite professor, has healed the injuries to her brain, and the dozens of cures she has to drink daily, courtesy of Madame Pomfrey, are taking care of the rest of her battered body.

But that doesn't help with the nightmares. They've only been getting worse.

As much as she likes having her friends with her, likes knowing that they care, having them around all the time makes it extremely difficult for her to be able to act as depressed as she feels. She may smile and joke, but, on the inside, she's still curled in a dark corner, crying her eyes out, and has no real hope for ever being able to stop.

"Boo," She suddenly hears from behind, making her jump, turning to find that it's just Bill. "Bloody hell!" She swears at the boy, who's grinning mischievously from having snuck up on her, "Don't do that!"

"Sorry," He laughs, jumping over the back of the couch while managing to juggle two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. After presenting one to Izzy, he arches an eyebrow and asks, "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Shouldn't you be at home?" The girl counters, mocking him by mimicking his expression, "Really, Bill, I appreciate that you guys all want to stay with me, but you should've spent the holiday with your families."

"Meh," He replies with a shrug, "Too late for that now. Break's over tomorrow."

"I know," She says, warming her hands against the sides of the mug as she watches Bill drain his in several large gulps. She looks away, her downcast gaze settling on the thick treat that she doesn't have the stomach for, "But you still should've spent time at home. Don't your little brothers and sister miss you?"

"Ya, they do," He tells her, resisting the urge to ask the girl about her own brother as he goes on, "But they understand. You're sick, and I wanted to be here to make you feel better."

Izzy blushes, gently pretending to sip her drink, inhaling the steam instead as she replies, "Well, as much as I think you shouldn't have stayed, thanks."

"Not a problem," Bill answers with a grin, "After all, it was my git of a brother who got you into this mess."

At the mention of Charlie, Izzy visibly tenses. She's not quite sure how she feels about that particular boy. Bill has told her several times how sorry Charlie is for what he did, but she just can't bring herself to care. She's worried because it's not like her to not care. Tomorrow, he'll be coming back to school with the others, and she doesn't know how she's going to react to him.

"You're not responsible for what he did," She tells Bill, snuggling into her heavy quilt in an attempt to chase the stubborn chill from her body. Silently, she concentrates on warming her hands against the untouched drink, staring ahead thoughtfully.

"Nestor's not coming back," Bill tells her a few minutes later, smiling softly at the good news, "I know you were kind of worried, after his father getting him off with nothing but community service and that stupid anti-violence class, but I ran into Dumbledore, and he told me the bastard's expelled."

"That's good," Izzy remarks with a distracted nod, "I hope he gets better."

"Gets better?" Bill asks, confused, "What does he need to get better from? He's scum. End of story."

The girl shrugs, tiredly remarking, "People who do the kinds of things he did are ill... I feel sorry for him." The redhead across from her shakes his head in disbelief, commenting, "Sometimes, I think you're too nice for your own good."

xxXxx

"Mate, don't take this the wrong way," Ahmad remarks flatly as soon as the compartment door closes behind him and his friends, "But your eye is the _grossest_ thing I have _ever_ seen."

Over the break, Charlie's injuries mostly healed, but his many crushed ribs still ache when he moves wrong, and his face is still one large, yellowing bruise, his left eye swollen almost completely shut. Magic is helping his body mend much quicker than it normally would on its own, but, due to the extent of the damage, the process is not exactly instantaneous.

Virgil snickers as the redhead frowns at Ahmad's comment, remarking himself, "Ya, seriously. You look like someone took a shovel to your head. I still can't believe how badly you fucked up that half-arsed plan of yours... heard Cooper almost died."

"She did," Charlie grumbles, throwing himself in the seat by the window, "More than once." He's not sure if he's happy to be going back to Hogwarts. On the one hand, he's thrilled to escape his mum's constant nagging and fretting about his face, his sour mood, and the truth about what happened between him and Izzy. However, a punishment is waiting for him at school. He'll be kicked off the quidditch team for the remainder of the year, and he's going to be serving detentions with Snape three times a week until June. Though the boy knows it's far less than he deserves, he's not exactly looking forward it. Plus, Dumbledore hinted at some other aspect of his punishment, and the twinkle in the old man's eye made Charlie very nervous.

There's also Bill, and the Wallace twins, who are all at Hogwarts, having spent the remainder of the break there with Izzy. He's going to have to face all of them. While he knows Bill is still angry, but will eventually forgive him, and the Wallace's will scream, and try to kill him, he has no idea what Izzy will do.

He wants to apologize, but can't think of what to say after what he did, and isn't even sure how she's going to respond. Will she ignore him? Yell at him? Cry? Charlie desperately hopes to never have to witness her cry ever again, let alone be the cause of it...

"Told you to leave her alone," Virgil taunts brightly, watching with morbid fascination as Ahmad takes off his shoes and socks, and sticks his bare feet out the window of the moving train.

"Ya," The dark-skinned boy agrees, letting his toes flex in the frigid wind, putting his hands behind his head of black hair as he lays down across the entire seat, "But you know what they say about Charlie: He's stupid."

"OY!" The young man in question protests indignantly, throwing a chocolate frog at his giggling friend. Virgil snickers, scolding sarcastically, "Is that anyway to talk about one of your best mates?"

Ahmad raises an eyebrow in speculation, looking like he's thinking very hard before he offers, "Ok... stupid, but pretty?"

"You _did not_ just call me pretty," Charlie growls, used to his friend's strange sense of humor so not really that angry as he jumps on top of him, knocking the taller boy to the floor and engaging in a playful wrestling match while Virgil takes out a magazine, reclining lazily, completely ignoring the rough-housing teens at his feet. Things seemed to be getting back to normal.

xxXxx

Tonks, sometimes absentminded to a fault, is so happy upon seeing Izzy seated between the Wallace twins at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall that she tackles the girl, crying hysterically while she hugs her friend for still being alive.

Izzy, far jumpier than usual, immediately starts shrieking at the top of her lungs, and flailing wildly in the embrace, and doesn't stop until Myron wrestles Tonks off of her. The metamorphamagus doesn't quite realize just how close she came to getting punched in the head.

"Sorry, Iz," The currently-raven-haired Ravenclaw apologizes a few minutes later, wiping delirious tears off her small face as she tries to laugh, "I'm just so happy to see you! When we left, they told us that you might not make it, and... I'm so glad you're ok!"

"Merlin, Nymphie," Margo teases, because it's in her Slytherin nature, but also because it's helping keep her from breaking down into tears herself, "Leave the poor girl alone! She already looks like she's been through hell, and doesn't need you blubbering all over her on top of that!"

"S-SOD OFF!!" Tonks shouts in reply, sniffling as Marie, being the kind soul that she is, allows the girl to cry onto her shoulder, giving Izzy a sweet smile.

Daisy laughs at the antics of her friends, pushing Bill and Cale aside in order to make a seat for herself right across from Izzy as she comments, "We're just really happy to see you, Iz. You are _so_ not allowed to almost die _ever_ again."

Much calmer now, the small girl laughs lightly, hugging her bony knees to her thin chest. Daisy wants to commit a few dozen homicides when she notices how Izzy is trying to hide her bruised face behind a veil of amber curls. That girl had enough self-esteem issues without a beating and attempted rape added to the mix..

"Hey, Iz," Daisy calls across the table, speaking softly, seriously, "After dinner, you and me, up in the dorms. I'll teach you a couple of glamours to use until your face gets better, ya?" With a weak smile, Izzy nods, quietly responding, 'Thanks."

"And from me, you're getting self-defense lessons, little miss!" Lark declares resolutely, blue eyes sparkling as she leaps up on her seat and begins demonstrating a few moves on the thin air, "Krav Magen is the official self-defense technique of the Israeli arm! It's really easy to learn, and even if someone's bigger and stronger than you are, you will so be able to _beat their arse!_"

"Take seat, crazy person!" Trinh laughs, grabbing the girl's skirt to keep it from flying up as she does a few high kicks, "You are flashing Hufflepuff table!" Sure enough, the four shyest boys in fourth year, Elias Deacon, Timmy Murphy, Toby Peregrin, and Julian York, are all staring, open mouthed and blushing like crazy. Lark waves coyly at them, giggling as she finally sits down, "Oops... Glad I remembered to wear knickers today..."

"You are such a tart!" Margo shrieks in amusement, taking a seat beside Mac. It seems house lines are being blurred tonight, as all four have represented themselves at the at front end of the Gryffindor table, coming together and breaking school rules in order to be with the good friend they all thought they had lost. The teachers have noticed, and none of them have the heart to split the children up.

xxXxx

At the far end of the same table, Charlie Weasley watches the happy scene taking place around little Izzy Cooper, and he feels like a horrible person for almost robbing her friends of her. He wants to talk to the girl, to apologize, but he knows if he goes over there now, while she's surrounded by all those people who hate him, he's going to get his arse severely kicked. Margo, Tonks, Daisy, Lark, Trinh, and, surprisingly, even sweet Marie told him as much when they cornered him getting off the train. The Wallace twins don't even have to say a word for him to know that they won't hesitate to tear him limb from limb if he ever gets anywhere near Izzy again.

Unfortunately, his conscience is not going to give him any peace until he tells her how sorry he is. It's eating him up. He can't sleep, he can't eat, he can barely function with the guilt weighing on him.

"Charlie, seriously, mate," Virgil speaking to him from across the table, as well as tossing a balled up piece of parchment at his head, manages to break him from his thoughts. The brunette gives him a calculating, worried stare as he remarks, "You're developing a bit of a creepy stalker vibe. Stop staring at the girl."

Charlie sighs, turning his gaze down into his empty plate, mumbling, "I just feel so fucking guilty! Did you see her face? That's my fault!"

Beside him, he feels Ahmad shrug, commenting, "You're not the one who hit her, so just say sorry for being an arse and you can both move on."

"Ya," Charlie says, the slightly foolish bravery he's notorious for already taking over his body. "Ya," He continues, pushing himself up, "That's exactly what I'll do. I gotta stop being a chicken, and just apologize."

xxXxx

Out of the corner of his eye, Bill sees his little brother walking towards the front end of the table. On the boy's face, he can immediately see the youngster's plan, and he's up out of his seat and running to head him off just as quickly.

"Charlie," He warns gruffly, "_No._ Leave her alone." The shorter boy looks sadly up at him, whispering, "I just want to say sorry."

Bill sighs, grabbing his brother by the arm and steering him away. He can see that Charlie has good intentions for this confrontation, but he just can't let it happen. "You can't go over there right now," He tells him sternly, "You need to give it time."

"Bill," The boy argues as he's dragged outside of the Great Hall, "I have to tell her how sorry I am! I haven't slept in weeks because I feel so horrible, and I don't think it'll stop until I talk to her! Please!"

The tall redhead can barely force back an angry growl, scolding shortly, "You are so egotistical! How can you possibly still be thinking of no one but yourself?"

Charlie remains silent, hanging his head in shame as his brother continues to go off on him, "Do you care at all that _she's_ not sleeping? That she still cries when she thinks no one's watching? That she flinches whenever anyone mentions your name?"

Feeling ten times worse than he did when he started his attempted apology, Charlie mutters defeatedly, "I-I'm sorry... I just... I don't know what to do to make it better... what can I do?"

"For now," Bill tells him quietly, "Just leave her be. Let her heal, and _then_ worry about earning forgiveness."

Charlie agrees with a soft, "Ok," but he's impatient, and impulsive, and can't help that he's already begun planning to disregard his brother's orders, using the information the older boy inadvertently revealed to do it.

xxXxx

A few minutes after midnight, all the other inhabitants of the fourth year girls' dormitory are asleep, and Izzy can finally slip out of her bed, abandoning her charade of a fitful doze. She creeps through the still darkness, reaching the stairs, and then the common room without so much as squeaking a floorboard. She never really liked sleep before, and it's been even worse lately. It's never restful, and always brings horrible memories, so she's been trying to avoid it whenever she can.

Silently, she pulls a thick blanket off one of the abandoned red couches, wrapping it around herself as she camps down in front of the fire and stokes the glowing embers into a roaring blaze. Although it's almost resulted in losing her eyebrows on more than one occasion, she curls up very close to the flames. The intense heat is just about the only thing she's found that will make the deep, dark chill in her body subside, at least temporarily.

It's been nice having her friends back, being able to surround herself with more people that care, but, at the same time, they've made her life even harder. It's hard to hide how deeply depressed she is, how much she just wants to give up on living. Also, the constant reminder that she would cause them all pain if she was gone makes her feel too guilty to do anything drastic, as much as she really wants to...

Tears slide down her bruised face, salt running into an open gash on her cheek, causing her to whimper when she feels the sharp sting of it burning her flesh. Even though it's painful, she continues to cry silently to herself by the fire, hurting so bad that she almost can't remember what sensations like good, and happy, and loved even feel like anymore.

That's where Charlie finds her a few minutes later, having purposely stayed awake in the hopes of catching her alone. She's too close to the flames, that's the first thing he notices as he stealthily creeps out from the shadowed corner of the common room he's been hiding in all night. A few footsteps closer to the girl, and he can see the tears on her face, fat, shining, crystalline and blood-like from the light of the fire.

Her full, split bottom lip is trembling as she stares into the blaze, hugging herself tightly, and she still hasn't noticed him. Her pajamas are too big, and her hair is too long, and she's too small, and pretty, and innocent to be looking so miserable and hopeless. He can't stand it. It's his fault...

He keeps his distance, not wanting to terrify her as he calls softly, "Izzy?"

She jumps in fright, nearly falling into the fire before she can catch herself and scramble away. "Get away from me," Is the first thing she manages to shout, surprising herself with the demand because she doesn't remember having thought it. It's automatic by now, and that fact is so depressing she just wants to scream.

Charlie has his hands up defensively, a pained look on his face as he takes a few steps back. "Sorry," He mutters, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Go away," The small girl orders, her voice growing hard and angry. She glares beyond her tears at the hazy blur of red hair and freckles standing in the opposite end of the room. Clumsily, she smudges the hot drops of salt off her cheeks, biting back a whimper when she presses too hard on her bruises and scrapes.

"Look," Charlie begins lamely, scratching his head as stares at his feet and tries to remember the apology he's been rehearsing for the past several weeks, "I-I'm sorry... for what I did... I never meant for you to get hurt... it was really, _really_ stupid... and... um..."

He trails off hopelessly, waiting for some reaction from Izzy, anything at all to indicate that the horrible pain he caused her hasn't completely broken the small girl.

But she just glares at him, tears running in long streaks down her sweet little face much faster than she can manage to brush them away. Uncomfortable, guilty, at a loss for what to say to make things better, Charlie settles for a soft, "I'm sorry."

"Fine," She whispers back, sniffling and hugging the blanket tighter around her bony shoulders, "You're sorry. Good to know. Now leave me alone."

"But... um..." Charlie falters, not satisfied with the response, unwilling to go upstairs knowing that Izzy will still be down in the common room, alone and crying, "Are... are you... ok?"

"Just _go_" The girl demands, unable to physically stand Charlie's presence for any longer. She thinks she might hate him. She's never hated anyone in her entire life, not Nestor Aubrey, who she pities, or even her uncle Richie, who she just fears. What Charlie did is somehow worse than what anyone else has ever done to her. She trusted him, and he tricked her into spilling her deepest, darkest secret before making her relive it. He was cruel, and malicious, and she really, truly _hates him_.

She's scared to feel so much anger and loathing towards another human being. She's always thought hate was like poison, and now she knows for sure.

"Please, just..." Charlie begs, cursing himself for not being as good with words as Bill is, or as smart as Mac is, or as funny as Myron is, for not having the tools to fix this, "I know it was an awful thing that happened to you, but... I don't want you to keep being sad over it... what can I do to make you feel better?"

"There _isn't_ anything you can do!" Izzy responds snappishly, almost falling over as she pushes herself to stand at her full, meager height, "I was _sad_ long before I ever met you, and I'll still be _sad_ long after you've forgotten I exist, so stop pretending you care, and just leave me alone!"

"I do too care!" Charlie insists stubbornly, knowing that his track record with the girl proves otherwise, but desperate to show her that it isn't true anymore, "I care that you're sad, and I know I can do _something_ to make you feel better! I have to do something to help! Please, just let me!"

"_Let you help me?_" The distraught girl shrieks, taking a few steps closer to the redhead. He's bigger than her, more in terms of strength and bulk than height, but it suddenly doesn't matter because she's _so angry_. Fists clenched, she gets right in his face and yells, "I really think you've done enough, _thanks_, and I'm not about to go through anymore torture just so you don't have to feel guilty!"

Slightly surprised by her reaction, Charlie consciously has to keep himself from backing away from the shaking little fireball before him, stuttering hopelessly, "I-It's not like that..."

She breathes hard, thin chest heaving as her amber eyes spit flames and her wild curls fly around her tear-stained face. It's the tears that ruin her anger, that let Charlie know she's still hurting.

"It's _exactly_ like that!" She insists, nails digging into her palms as her fists tighten, "You're still living in the fantasyland where sorry has some mystical power to make us both feel better, where you say it, and I accept it, and the world is all enchanted candy and golden snitches again! Well you know what? That's not how reality works! Here in the real world, in _my_ world, the damage is done, and sorry doesn't _fix_ anything! Sorry doesn't even _mean_ anything! The past is over and done with, and nothing can change it, no matter how much you might want to! You're _never_ going to really understand what you did because you didn't hurt _you_! You hurt _me_, and I'm the only one who knows what it feels like to have lived my life getting hurt over and over again by stupid, careless, fucking _weak_ people! You can't really be sorry! What you feel is guilty, and guilty is _not_ the same as sorry, so spare me your guilt! I kind of have enough shit to deal with on my own without being subjected to self-centered bitching and whining from a heartless bastard like you!"

Stunned, Charlie thinks the tirade is possibly the most he's ever heard Izzy say in all the years he's known her. He realizes that he likes listening to her talk, even if she is yelling at him, that she's sharp, and eloquent, and damned fierce, and the fact that it took almost killing her to see those things makes him feel very, _very_ stupid.

Even so, he's hurt by her words. As smart as they are, he knows they're wrong, and he _knows_ he can prove it to her. If only she'll give him that much undeserved chance...

"I-I don't know what else to say..." He offers feebly, nervous about how close she's standing to him. The girl hasn't even left him enough space to drop his gaze to his feet, so he keeps eye contact, locking his clear blue eyes on her red-rimmed, dark amber ones as he states a heartfelt, "I'm sorry."

And then she punches him. Sweet, shy, timid little Isabel Cooper _punches him right in the face._

It's more shocking than painful, the girl's spindly arm and small fist barely strong enough to leave much more than a slight stinging sensation on his left cheek. She hurts herself more than she hurts him, swearing loudly, not to mention uncharacteristically, as she shakes out her sore hand.

Charlie touches his fingertips to the spot where she hit him, his mouth hanging open in pure awe. After the throbbing ache in Izzy's fist dies down a bit, she looks back at the boy with the same expression on her small, terrified, tear-stained face. She can't believe she actually just _hit someone!_ It wasn't accidental, or even in self-defense. She hates Charlie Weasley and just wanted to punch him, so she... did!

For almost a full minute, the two teens just stare, the atmosphere of the quiet, dim room taking on a surreal, otherworldly quality as what happened finally sinks in.

And Izzy starts crying again, turning away from Charlie and heading back to her blanket, and her fire, and her misery. Blowing up at the boy has only made her feel ten times worse about herself, and all she wants now is solitude.

The redhead watches her curl into a small ball beside the fireplace, far too close to the flames once again, and he feels helpless, and despicable, and... evil. He still wants to help the girl, to do anything necessary to make her stop looking so. fucking. hopeless.

But he knows she's never going to see him as anything but a bully, and a threat, so he turns away, and silently climbs the stairs up to the dorm rooms.

"Myron," He hisses, forcefully shaking the snoring sixth year boy awake because it's the one thing he could think of to help Izzy at all, "Myron, wake up."

"Nnyugh, huh, whatzat?" The olive-skinned boy grunts tiredly, his long curly hair a frizzed mess. After he manages to pry his green eyes open enough to realize who's woken him, he glares. "Weasley," The young man threatens hoarsely, "You'd better have a _damn_ good reason for interrupting my entirely topless Holyhead Harpies dream."

"Um..." Charlie drawls, glad for the darkness because he's blushing just a bit at the imagery, "Sorry, but... you need to go to the common room."

Myron looks at him strangely, punching his pillow a few times before he lays back down on it, smacking his lips and answering, "What for?"

"Because... er..." Charlie responds, nervously scratching his head and unsure of how to say what he wants to say, "You just... really need to." Again, Myron looks at him strangely, prompting the boy to add, "_Really_... please."

"Arg," The lanky young man grumbles, untangling his shirtless body from the warm blankets and then stumbling out of the room, "Fine. But this better be good..." Charlie retreats to his own bed then, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling, not even trying to sleep as the tightness in his chest squeezes in around his heart.

xxXxx

"Damn crazy Weasley bastard..." Myron Wallace grumbles as he clumsily staggers down the seemingly endless staircase, "Waking my arse at freaking midnight and being all cryptic and weird and I knew I should've thrashed his sorry butt earlier..." The young man yawns hugely, and stretches as he finally steps into the common room, intent on investigating Charlie's emergency and then going straight back to bed.

But he hears crying. Disturbed, he forces his tired eyes to focus, and they immediately fall on a shuddering ball of blankets and curly hair that's settled far to close to the roaring fire.

It only takes an instant for the tall Gryffindor to run across the room, falling to his knees beside the girl he adopted as his little sister, and barely resisting the urge to pull her into a hug as he feels his heart breaking. "Oh, Toothpick," He soothes, making her jump and then sob harder, her small body made to look even smaller by the way it's curled in on itself, "Toothpick, please don't cry."

"I can't..." She sobs, ashamed and hiding her face behind her bony knees, "I can't do this." Myron remains silent, as close as he can get to Izzy without touching her while she whimpers, "I can't. I tried. I'm sorry, I really did, but it's too hard, a-and I just don't want to try anymore. I-I'm tired of having to exhaust myself just making it through every next day. It's too- too hard, and I don't want to do it anymore."

"Hey," The boy scolds firmly, not willing to let this smart, spirited, _strong_ girl give up on herself, "You're not allowed to quit like that... hey, look at me, sweetie."

Very slowly, still sniffling and shivering, she brings her head up, lifts her swollen eyes to meet those of her kind friend. She'll never figure out why Myron cares about her so much, but it doesn't matter. She knows he does, and one look at the love and worry on his face makes her absolutely sure she'll never be able to let him down by quitting on life.

"You can do it," He tells her confidently, trying to smile to put her at ease, "I know you can. I know it's hard for you, and you've been through a hell of a lot, but I also know you, and I know that you're too tough to let it beat you. You're Izzy Fucking Cooper! You broke the head girl's nose when you were just a first year! You kicked Nestor Aubrey in the balls hard enough so that he'll probably never reproduce, which is a service to the human race if I ever heard one! You were too damned strong and stubborn to die even when everyone said you would!"

Izzy hiccups, and coughs, letting her head rest on her knees as Myron smiles softly and tells her, "Do you even see these things about yourself? Do you give yourself credit for being strong, and brilliant, and just an all around good person? You go through hell and always come out of it. Just because life's hard doesn't mean you're allowed to give up, ok?"

He doesn't understand, but he cares, and that's enough. Izzy can't find the will to keep fighting for herself, but she'll do it for Myron, because it's the only thing he's ever asked of her. She offers up a shallow, "Ok."

"Great," The boy responds, smiling softly, "I knew you had it in you. No bunch of fucking arseholes trying to kill her is gonna get my little Toothpick down!"

Unable to help herself, Izzy giggles softly, a slight smile brightening her forlorn features. It makes Myron grin widely. "There it is," He beams, taking a liberty he's earned through years of trust and tugging lightly on one of her long curls, "There's that million-galleon smile that could melt an iceberg and inspire the world to a state of peace and harmony."

Blushing, the girl teases lightly, "I could never do all that. You're just being foolish and poetic again." Myron sticks his tongue out at her, "I may be a fool, and I may be a poet deep down beneath my hard, incredibly macho exterior-"

A snicker from Izzy cuts him off, but he just smiles, flexing his wiry arms and chest in order to turn the snicker into a full on laugh. "Ahem," He teases brightly, "As I was saying, I may be a poet and a fool, but you, little Isabel Cooper, are a smart, beautiful, talented young lady, with a bigger heart than St. Mungo himself. Everyone loves you, and everyone just wants to see you happy."

The girl remains silent, finally having been able to stop crying just from listening to Myron's kind words. He goes on, "You know you don't have to ever fight alone, ya? You say the word, and I'll _always_ come running. No more of this finding you crying by yourself in the middle of the night. You come get me, ok? Anytime, anywhere." Izzy nods, quietly agreeing, "Ok."

"Alright then," The boy declares with a grin as he jumps to his feet, "I think we're gonna need hot drinks and junkfood to complete your healing process. Kitchen run?"

"Sure," Izzy agrees, wobbling to her feet, "That sounds nice." Myron smiles and sweeps into a low bow, gesturing towards the portrait hole as he chimes, "Ladies first."

The girl answers with a mocking curtsie, and Myron knows she's going to be ok. He knows she's not completely better yet, knows she probably never will be, but he believes every word he said about her strength and resilience, and knows she'll pull through.

As he follows her out of Gryffindor tower, he resolves to never let Izzy be hurt ever again.

He also resolves to punch Charlie Weasley right in his fat, freckled head.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

TA DA!!! More to come!! Every time you read a story and don't review, god kills a kitten. Do you really want that on your conscience?


	10. Part 10: Changes and Sames

Part 10 - Changes and Sames

"Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonogall snaps over the noise of her seventh year Transfiguration class packing their things and preparing to leave for lunch, "I would like a word with you."

Charlie groans, praying that the conference will not be about what he already knows it's going to be about. "Yes, Professor," He mutters, slumping back down in his seat and waving his friends goodbye. Virgil gives him a sympathetic half smile, and Ahmad comments optimistically, "Don't worry, mate. She didn't use the 'you're deadmeat' voice, so it can't be _that_ bad."

Seven years at Hogwarts, and Charlie's still in the same jam he's been in since when he first started. "I'm afraid you failed the last exam," McGonogall announces, her voice strict, but somehow still kind, "Your grade is dangerously low and anymore failures would result in a suspension of your quidditch privileges."

"No, Professor, please!" Charlie begs, sounding more like the whiny boy he used to be than the eighteen-year-old man he's become, "You can't fail me! I studied _so_ hard for that test! I know I know the material! Please, give me another chance!"

He can't get kicked off the quidditch team again. It's already happened to him twice, once in third year for low grades, and once in fourth year for almost killing another student. Both times, the team suffered without him, but managed to pull through to win the cup. This time, since they would be losing their seeker _and_ captain, he's not so sure the Gryffindors could manage it. He _won't_ finish off his seventh year with a defeat to Slytherin. He just _won't_.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Weasley," The severe woman scolds, lips pursed into a razor thin line as she gazes down at him through small, square lenses, "You are _in danger_ of failing, not failing, as of yet. This is merely a warning, and, after speaking with some of your other professors, a bit of an intervention."

Charlie pulls a face, "What?" Almost pretending not to hear him, McGonogall turns to her desk, picking up a red folder with the boy's name on it, opening it and announcing, "According to this, you are in danger of failing almost _all_ off your classes. Potions and History of Magic are the most critical situations. What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Weasley?"

"I'm trying," He insists fiercely, "Honest, I am! I study like crazy!"

"Yes, yes," McGonogall, tuts, brushing him off as she continues to read his file. Before she turns back to him, she sighs, then fixes him with an intense stare as she says, "I know you're trying, and that's why this is so frustrating for everyone involved."

Charlie hangs his head, making a mental note to get a haircut because he can feel his tomato colored locks curling against his forehead and he _hates_ it when his hair is long enough to do that. He also _hates_ that he's so dumb. He wants to be smart, like Bill and Percy, but he works hard and it doesn't make a difference. It's downright maddening when he spends days, weeks preparing for an exam, when he thinks he knows everything he could possibly know about the subject and he fails anyways. He doesn't think it's fair.

"I've arranged a tutor for you," McGonogall informs him kindly, snapping shut the red folder and bringing him out of his self-pity, "A fellow student, but, I must warn you, it took quite a lot of effort to obtain her services, so if you are anything but a gentleman, Mr. Weasley, if I hear even _one_ complaint about your behavior from the girl, you will be _severely_ punished. Is that clear?"

Slightly confused, but definitely not wanting any severe punishment (because he's still serving from that fiasco in his fourth year, having been made a prefect solely for the purpose of being assigned three times the patrols as anyone else), he nods, "Of course. I wouldn't do anything bad..."

The young man trails off, a little disturbed by the strange warning he received, finally remembering to ask, "Who is it?"

The look on his gray-haired professor's face remains stoic, and hard, and she answers quietly, "Isabel Cooper."

xxXxx

"No."

Severus Snape doesn't think he's ever heard the thin, wild-haired girl standing before him _ever_ refuse something so bluntly. He expected nothing less from the asinine request he made of her (not his idea, really, and if it we're for Minerva getting the headmaster involved he never would've even asked), but, nonetheless, Izzy's response is incredibly startling.

The sour, bad-tempered professor is prouder than he is ever likely to admit of young Miss Cooper. She took her potion NEWT at the end of her fifth year, a whole two years early, and passed with a perfect score, something no student since he himself took the exam has done. The clever girl also got O's on all the OWL's she took in the same year, flying colors all around.

Since then, since there were no more potions classes for her but she was adamant about wanting to continue her education in the subject, he's allowed her to apprentice with him, training to become a potion's mistress herself. Snape would like nothing more than to allow her to continue the excellent work she's been doing for him, flawlessly executing excruciatingly complicated projects, and even conducting experimental research that has yielded several patented formulas she will be able collect royalties off of for the rest of her life. However, Minerva asked to borrow her for a few weeks, to have her tutor a failing student.

That alone wouldn't have been a problem. He knows that Izzy is a kind girl, who would willingly and enthusiastically help anyone in need. It's which student in particular needs her help that is the issue.

"Miss Cooper, I do not recall having given you a choice in the matter," Snape drawls flatly, really disliking having to argue with her over anything not intellectual, "Since you have completed the circuit of potions classes and are technically a teaching assistant, it is perfectly within my authority to have you tutor the boy rather than begin a new assignment."

"I won't do it," The teen growls, her amber eyes flashing with annoyance and anger. Even though the rest of her appearance is changed from when Snape first met the girl, her lithe body taller, healthier, and more womanly, her skin not quite so pale, her demeanor not quite so skittish, those big brown eyes are still the same, brilliant, and expressive, and, in his opinion, much too large for her head.

"Sir, you _cannot_ expect me to teach _Charlie Weasley,_" Izzy continues, furious beyond comprehension, her normally soft voice loud and shaking, "Give me anyone else, and I'll do it gladly, but _not him_."

She doesn't understand how Snape could even _ask_ her to do that! He knows her history with Charlie, knows, as does the entire castle, that she hasn't spoken to him since the middle of fourth year. Their feud has taken on proportions even more momentous than the Gryffindor-Slytherin one, and with good reason, "I. Hate. Charlie. Weasley."

Her misunderstood potions professor, the man who has largely guided her academic development over her dwindling time at school, gives her an exacerbated sigh, grumbling, "I know."

"Then you also know," She bites back, "That I don't _speak_ to Charlie Weasley. I don't even _sit in the same room_ as Charlie Weasley when I can help it. And even if I didn't _hate his guts_, I couldn't teach him anything! Give me a _monkey_ and I could have it reciting the Goblin Wars backwards and forwards, brewing wolfsbane by the end of the week, but Charlie Weasley is a _MORON!!_ He's too stupid to learn anything from me!! He's thick jock!! A hopeless cause!!"

Professor Snape may be a very hard man to read, but the look he gives Izzy suddenly has her feeling that he's ashamed of her behavior... and she doesn't like that feeling. "Funny," He drawls slowly, "I remember quite a few people telling me that _you_ were a 'hopeless cause' when you first arrived here."

The cold air of the dungeon, the dank smell and dingy stone walls are all familiar, but the hurt of having Snape disappointed in her is quite new. He doesn't have to say it, she just knows from his hard stare, and she hangs her head down, muttering, "Sorry."

"You will tutor Charlie Weasley," The tall man instructs, his black robes flying out behind him as he turns and takes a few long strides into his office, "You will be _civil_, and you will help him achieve passing grades in all his classes, as well as his NEWT's. Good day, Miss Cooper."

And then he's gone, and Izzy wants nothing more than to bash her head against the cold stone table.

xxXxx

_Dear Mac,_

_How are you? I hope you're still having a great time at University, and learning a lot, too. I applied like you suggested, but haven't heard back, so I don't know yet if I'll be joining you next year. I'll be sure to owl as soon as I find out. Everything here is pretty quiet. NEWT's are coming up, so people are starting to get nervous. Tonks had a bit of a nervous breakdown last week, proving once and for all that she really does belong in Ravenclaw, haha. It took the girls and me almost four hours just to get her to stop morphing uncontrollably. She's mostly alright now, but her hair keeps, as she puts it, 'kaleidescoping.' It's exactly what it sounds like.  
Remember to take breaks for fun, and I hope to hear from you soon,_

_Izzy._

_Dear Bill,_

_How are you? I hope you're still having a wonderful time in Egypt. Be careful of sunburns and mummy curses. Mostly things are the same here. Percy's just told me that he's number one in his whole class, and we're all very proud of him. He's going to end up a prefect for sure. Fred and George are in trouble again. I'm not exactly sure why, but they blew up Greenhouse Three. It's ok though, no one was hurt, it was a spectacular fire show, and all they have to do is rebuild it with Hagrid as their punishment. Those two are quite cute with all their mischief, and it's a shame that you graduated before they came here, though I suppose you probably get your fill of them at home, haha.  
Remember to write your mother, and don't wander (or charge purposely, more likely) into anything potentially life threatening,_

_Izzy._

_Dear Myron,_

_How are you? I hope the weather in Venice cleared up, and that the meeting with your publisher went well. I know I've already told you this loads of times, but I really love your story, and can't wait to see it in the bookstores. I think I'll probably end up doing something very stupid, like buying hundreds of copies. Don't laugh, because you know I'll make you autograph every single one. Things are going well here. That clerk from Honeyduke's you flirted with last time you took me to Hogsmeade (stop denying it, you totally did) came by looking for you. She seems very nice, and almost as odd as you are. Plus she brought me lots of chocolate, so I think you need to marry her. Just kidding (not really (or am I?)). Don't feel bad about missing Hogsmeade; your book is important, and I'll be fine on my own. I'll be sure to stop in at Honeyduke's and send your regards, haha._

_Miss you a lot,_

_Izzy._

With the last of her weekly letters to her abroad friends written, Izzy sighs deeply, and slowly rolls the stiffness out of her neck and shoulders. The slim girl rises from her seat at the Gryffindor table, and walks gracefully out of the silent Great Hall. It's very early, and the large room is completely deserted, but she knows that it will be loud, and packed, and bustling by the time she gets back from the owlery. She pulls her thick robes tightly around her small body, and walks out into the fresh snow.

Izzy is seventeen now, a year younger than the rest of her graduating class, but far ahead academically, especially in potions. Thanks to Snape constantly singing her praises to colleagues, she already has job offers for after she graduates, many with top research firms. Even so, she hopes to spend at least a few years at University with Mac, and maybe even some time tagging along on Bill's adventures (if he ever leaves Egypt again, which is looking more and more unlikely).

The petite teen with the wild gold-brown curls and deep amber eyes often doesn't recognize herself from the shaking, skeletal, terrified pickpocket she once was. She often wonders where that little street rat went, how she evolved into the happy, healthy young woman who stares back at her from the mirror every morning.

But, no matter how far she's come, she's still the same in some ways. Her phobia to touch is still as strong as ever. Even the briefest brushes with other people are enough to make her jump, and scream, and feel sick to her stomach, so much so that she sometimes has to lie down. She still has nightmares, too. They're not as frequent as they once were, but no less severe. Considering everything she went through, though, the girl thinks that she's become surprisingly well-adjusted.

Learning to cope with her past was a long process, but, after spending most of her life struggling, the girl thinks she finally has.

Once in the loud, smelly owlery building, Izzy stops. Looking up at the hundreds of birds huddled closely together, she gives a shrill whistle. It only takes a moment for a jet black owl to come circling gently down towards the ground.

"Good morning, Metis," Izzy coos softly, offering her sleek, beautiful bird a few bacon strips before scratching it lightly on its head, "Up for some deliveries today, girl?"

The little creature ignores the question, far too content with crunching on the tasty meat. Izzy smiles, swelling with pride for her pet. It was shortly after the holidays in her fourth year when Hagrid found Metis in the Forbidden Forest. She was just a helpless ball of gray fluff, barely big enough to fill one of Izzy's small hands. She also had a broken wing.

Izzy was still very depressed from her near death experience at the hands of Charlie Weasley and Nestor Aubrey. All her friends were worried, Myron especially, because she couldn't eat, and was having horrible nightmares, and crying far too much. Hagrid gave her the hurt animal as an effort to cheer her up.

And it worked. Izzy nursed Metis back to health, and somehow managed to heal herself in the process. The girl dragged herself back from the brink of destruction to become the young woman she is today. The bird's wing mended wonderfully, and she shed her gray down in favor of sleek black feathers. Those, coupled with her unusual, piercing red eyes, make Metis widely recognized as the most beautiful owl in Hogwarts. Izzy is held in somewhat the same esteem among her peers, but she doesn't quite realize it, denying that fact to herself. Despite the progress she's made, the girl still suffers from a tragically low opinion of herself, her body especially.

"Come on, baby," Izzy chuckles, softly petting the bird as it finishes its food, "You get to go see Bill, and Mac, and Myron. You remember the ways, don't you?"

Seeming to understand somehow, the jet owl hoots excitedly, giving Izzy's fingers an affectionate nip. The girl smiles, handing over the letters before kissing Metis lightly on the head, instructing, "You be sure and give My a good scare, ya? He still thinks you're a demon because of those eyes of yours, so it shouldn't be too hard. Hehe, silly boy. Try to catch him in the shower again." With one last energetic nip and hoot, the little owl takes off. Izzy watches her soar away until she disappears behind the rolling hills on the horizon. Finally ready to return for the castle, she sighs contentedly, and turns around.

She collides with a hard body, and a horrible shriek immediately leaves her lungs as the books in her arms explode outwards. She goes into defensive mode, jumping away, kicking, swinging, and intent on escape.

"OW!! Hey, what the hell?" A deep voice yelps in surprise, its owner stumbling away from Izzy. Leaning up against the wall, the frightened girl has to take a few moments to catch her breath and calm down before she can open her eyes.

"Oh, Nero," She gasps, breathless, and beginning to blush when she recognizes that she just assaulted an acquaintance of hers, Nero Roman, seventh year Slytherin, "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you were standing there, and I got startled. Are you alright?"

Cobalt blue eyes watering slightly, the tall brunette glares as he rubs his gut. He caught a hard elbow there, as well as a kick in the shin, and really doesn't understand what the hell he did to frighten Izzy so badly. She's such a damn jumpy thing...

"I'm fine, you cheeky little wench," The young man answers gruffly, "But, Merlin, first you steal my money, and then you try to beat me up? If this is some kind of scheme to prematurely gray my hair, it's working!"

Bristling at the accusation, Izzy frowns, crossing her arms over her full chest as she responds, "I didn't _steal_ anything from you, Roman. You lost it fair and square."

The boy's eyes narrow, even though he's fighting a smirk as he answers, "Well that's not what I call it when Cale brings a ringer to poker night." Suddenly mimicking the amber-haired teen's shy voice and demeanor, he makes a production out of mocking, "'Oh, I couldn't possibly play! Yes, I know _how_, but I haven't in years! Well, if you boys insist...'" Izzy smirks, and then Nero has to as well, grumbling quietly, "You wiped the floor with us, you little sneak."

"So I did," The girl responds coolly, her smile twisting devilishly as she enjoys teasing, "Now, is there something you want, or are you just a sore loser who enjoys telling people things they already know?"

Still fighting a losing battle with the smirk on his face, Nero replies sharply, "I want a rematch! Who taught you to play cards, little girl?"

"My brother," She answers after a slight hesitation, her soft voice barely above a whisper, her heart feeling painfully tight before she finally remembers to just change the subject, "And I really hadn't played in years. I'm warmed up now though, so I'd be more than happy to give you a rematch. I'll just have Cale bring me to your poker night again. Thursday, right?"

"Yeah," Nero answers smoothly, placing his hands on the wall on either side of Izzy's head, getting far too close for comfort as he smiles down, "We have it every Thursday, and you're welcome to join us any time, but I was kind of hoping you and me could do something on our own. Maybe get a butterbeer in Hogsmeade Saturday, and you can give me some pointers? Tell me some more about this card-shark brother of yours?"

Immediately feeling her face blanch, Izzy shrinks back against the wall, and subconsciously claws at the stone as Nero leans in. She knows that he doesn't want to hurt her, but that doesn't matter. He's too close, and it's taking every shred of willpower she has not to scream, or vomit, or faint, or all of the above.

Nero, noticing her distress, but not quite astute enough to figure out that his proximity is causing it, frowns, and inquires, "Are you alright?"

Wide-eyed, trembling in terror, Izzy barely manages to stammer, "F-Fine. J-Just please, um, back up."

The boy takes a step back as he answers in confusion, "Oh, sure. I'm sorry. Was I too close or something?"

"Yes," She replies, letting out a slow, relieved breath, even though she still can't stop herself from shaking, "Or something..."

"Well, I'm sorry," He apologizes once more, offering a sheepish, yet still somehow charming smile, "That's me, always coming on too strong... just so we're clear, I was hitting on you."

Utterly startled, Izzy can't help it when her eyes go wide, and she shouts, "WHY?"

The tall brunette laughs, thinking that she's joking. However, when he realizes just a few seconds later that she's not, he makes a face, explaining slowly, "Well, because you're a pretty cool bird, for a Gryffindor, anyways, and I'd like to get to know you better... so, how about that drink?"

"I can't," She states immediately, her hands shaking as she hurriedly sets about gathering her dropped books, desperate to get out of there, "I'm sorry."

Before she can make her escape, Nero snatches one of the thick volumes away from her, holding it above his head (well out of the petite girl's reach) as he smiles, and teases, "Sure you can. It'll be real easy. Just say yes, and then meet me."

Izzy takes another step away from the boy, shaking her head, trying not to let her voice shake as well as she demands flatly, "No, I can't... please, give that back."

Normally, Nero would have no problems pestering a girl for a date. One of his specialties is adorable blackmail, after all. But there's just something about the way Izzy is standing, her eyes down, her shoulder's hunched, her other books clutched protectively against her chest, that has him thinking it wouldn't be the least bit fun to push her.

He notices quickly that the hand she's stuck out for him to return the book he took is trembling, and gives the dusty text back without a word.

Almost as quickly, Izzy bolts, nearly tripping over her own hurry as she speeds back towards the castle.

xxXxx

"I'm dead," Charlie whines softly, repeatedly bashing his head against his desk as he tries to stay awake during History of Magic.

To his left, he hears his friend Ahmad snoring, and realizes that the boy probably hasn't been listening to him gripe about his crisis. However, Virgil is still paying attention. Well, half paying attention anyways, since he is also scrawling notes from the lecture as he remarks, "You're not dead."

After making a small noise of disbelief, Charlie argues, "No, I am _definitely_ dead. Cooper hates me. She's not going to help me, and I'll fail, and get kicked out of quidditch, and Gryffindor will lose the Cup."

"McGonogall's not stupid, and she wants you to win," Virgil argues, chewing thoughtfully on the end of his quill before adding more neat lettering to the page, "She knows Izzy hates you, and probably already made sure that she'll still go through with it. Stop bitching."

"Easy for you to say," The bad-tempered young man grumbles under his breath, trying to glare at where his too-long red hair is curling slightly against his forehead, "Your whole future doesn't depend on a girl you once almost accidentally killed, who has a grudge against you so bad she hasn't even looked at you in nearly four years..."

He takes a deep breath, calming down and trying to make himself sound as sad as possible as he asks, "Couldn't you just-"

"No," Virgil cuts him off, turning from his notes for a moment to glower dangerously, "I'm sorry, mate, I'd help you if I could, but we both know that I can't. Don't you remember that we almost killed each other when I tried to help you with that Charms essay? No offense, but you're pretty goddamn dense."

Charlie groans defeatedly, smacking his head against the desk once more as Virgil scolds, "Just give this thing with Izzy a chance. What's the worst that could happen? Even if she doesn't help you, it might finally be the opportunity you've been harping after for four bloody years to finally apologize to her."

At the thought, Charlie brightens for a moment, then frowns once again. "I did try apologizing to her," He informs his friend, "Right after it happened. She didn't accept, and she sort of... well, she punched me in the face."

"Wait, wait, wait," A new voice interjects, followed shortly after by the sounds of desk legs squeaking shrilly as they're dragged across the floor. The boys look up from their conversation to see that Nero Roman has moved himself closer to them, and is leaning forward with interest, his dark blue eyes wide.

"Izzy Cooper _punched you?_" The dark-haired Slytherin asks incredulously, "Izzy Cooper, the little bird who looks like she's going to cry if she sees someone squashing a fly, actually _punched you?_"

Scowling, Charlie snaps, "Yes, though I don't see why it's any of your business."

"Sorry, mate," Nero laughs flippantly, "She was on my mind, and hearing you talk about her peaked my interest... hey, you guys are in her house, do you have any idea why she's so fucking weird?"

"She's not weird," The redhead growls in reply, his light blue eyes narrowing. With an exasperated grunt, Virgil shoves his desk away from the bickering boys, muttering, "Gossipy hens..."

"Beg to differ," Nero goes on, not skipping a beat, "I was talking to her this morning, and one minute we were getting along smashingly, and the next she's an ice queen. Most girls giggle and squeal when I ask them out. She looked like she was going to be sick."

With a bitter smirk, Charlie quips, "Don't blame her. I'd be sick, too."

"No worries, Weasley," Nero replies just as sarcastically, a mocking grin twisting his handsome, aristocratic features, "Stubborn, abrasive, and thick as a fucking rock aren't my type, so you're definitely safe from any offers to get a drink in Hogsmeade with me."

"Oh, sod off!" The redhead snaps back, noisily moving his desk away from Nero's, and feeling inexplicably furious that the Slytherin would have the nerve to ask Izzy out.

xxXxx

Cale Eyret really likes being tall. He can see over crowds, easily intimidate anyone who's annoying him, and never gets his clothes stolen because they don't fit any of his normal-sized dormmates.

As he stands silently between the book stacks in the Hogwarts library, watching Izzy Cooper trying to carefully and silently drag a crate down the row, his love of his stature is enforced three times over.

"Afternoon, Bel," The muscular young man greets quietly as he takes a few long strides towards his friend and long-time secret crush. He tucks back a few strands of dirty blonde hair that have fallen out of the short, messy ponytail gathered at the nape of his neck, and smiles sweetly as Izzy turns towards him.

"Which do you want?" He asks, still grinning, and feeling incredibly proud, as well as useful and chivalrous.

The little brunette blushes adorably, the skin behind her sparse, sun-kissed freckles darkening to a deep pink as she abandons the crate and instructs shyly, "The big blue one with the silver lettering."

What would have taken Izzy two or three boxes to stand on in order to retrieve only takes Cale a bit of tip-toes. He easily reaches to the top shelf, and plucks down the dusty book she requested.

"Here you go," The boy announces as he triumphantly hands it over, smiling stupidly to himself and wiping it off a bit first. Despite the fact that they've been very good friends for years, he still likes proving to this pretty girl just how handy and strong he is. That way, maybe one day she'll see him as more than just a friend...

"Thanks so much, Cale," Izzy replies sweetly, her blush still not entirely subsided, "You're a hero."

If possible, the big smile on Cale's face gets even bigger, and he answers, "My pleasure."

After a few moments in silence, the boy offers out a brown paper sack, stating, "I brought you lunch, so that Myron doesn't kill me for letting you starve."

"Ha," Izzy answers dryly, taking the bag and inspecting its contents with minimal interest, "I wouldn't worry about that for at least another month. He's stuck in Venice."

"Aw, so he won't be taking you to Hogsmeade then?" The Slytherin inquires, trying his best not to sound excited. He's friends with Myron, but the aspiring novelist's stubborn insistence on accompanying Izzy on every Hogsmeade weekend has made it impossible for Cale to ask her to go with _him._ It's hard not to be jealous of how much time Myron gets to spend with the smart little girl he adopted as his little sister.

"Nope," She replies, sighing in resigned disappointment, "That's alright though. He's busy getting his book published. I'm sure I'll be just fine without him."

"Willyougowithme?" The jumbled rush of words spew out of Cale's mouth before he can stop himself, and then he holds his breath waiting for an answer.

Slightly confused, Izzy tilts her head to the side, asking, "What do you mean? We always meet up."

"Er..." He replies, biting his lip and cursing himelf for being so impulsive. He's spending too much time around Gryffindors. Trying not to fidget uncomfortably, the boy continues, "I mean... like... just you and me... like, a date..."

It only takes a brief moment for Izzy's deep brown eyes to go wide, and for her mouth to fall open as she gasps, "Oh..."

"You, uh," The boy stammers, looking down at his big feet, kicking himself for fucking things up, "You don't have to if you don't want to. I just... thought I'd ask..."

"Cale," She whispers sheepishly, "You... you know it's not like that." This is so awkward, and Izzy wants to melt into the floor. She can't decide what's worse, the prospect of hurting Cale's feelings, or the possibility of putting herself in an intimate situation. She knows that Cale is her friend, and that he understands her limits, but the thought of a _date_ with him, with anyone, really, is utterly terrifying...

"Do you... want to think about it?" The young man offers softly, knowing that he really is asking a lot of Izzy, and that she's obviously scared of the consequences of any answer she gives.

Relaxing slightly, the girl nods, murmuring, "Yes, thanks."

"Sure," Her blonde companion answers, forcing a smile, "That's not a big deal... so, uh, I should get going. I've got class, and really just stopped by to make sure you ate some lunch. Bye, Bel. I'll see you later."

Izzy smiles genuinely, despite her fear, because Cale is the only one who ever calls her Bel. It's not uncertainty about his intentions or sincerity that worries her, it's her own inability to give him what he deserves. "Of course," She says with a wave, "Don't forget, we're studying for Charms after dinner."

The tall boy leaves with a smile, stating, "I'd never forget. See you then."

"Cale," Izzy blurts, making him turn back at the end of the row. With one look at the hopeful, utterly devoted expression on his face, she caves, stating quietly, "I'd love to go with you."

His smile is bright, and brilliant, and bloody adorable, and just being the one who made him look so happy is enough to slightly ease Izzy's fears. "REALLY?" Cale shouts, earning a distant, disembodied, "SHHHH!" from the librarian.

"Sorry," He whispers sheepishly before turning back to Izzy, and hissing, "Really? Are you sure? I-I mean, I'm happy, but only if you're not just saying yes to make me happy. Like, I want to go with you to show you a good time, and if you're not comfortable with it then-"

"_Cale,_" Izzy laughs, blushing slightly again, "You're babbling, and you're late for class. I really do want to go."

In reply, the boy gives an embarrassed chuckle, turning red, too, as he states, "Right. Um, thanks then. I'll... pick you up from the front steps?"

Biting her full, pouty bottom lip, the little brunette nods, and Cale smiles, and runs, hoping to get out of there before he says anything stupid, anything that will mess up this miracle.

xxXxx

"This is a _disaster!!_" Izzy moans softly as she walks through the crowded Hogwarts hallways. Normally, being surrounded by so many people would make her infinitely nervous, but with Daisy on her right and Tonks on her left protecting her from the swarm, she feels safe enough to concentrate on her internal crisis.

She feels the skin on the back of her neck prickle when both the other girls start laughing at her statement. "It's not funny!" She snaps, stomping her foot petulantly, hating that both of her companions are so much taller than her because she can't properly glare from so far below both their sight lines.

"It is a little funny," Daisy remarks with a chuckle, worrying her gleaming silver lip ring back and forth with her tongue, "You're freaking out over _nothing,_ love."

Nodding, blowing hot pink bangs out of her eyes several times before finally getting frustrated and morphing them shorter, Tonks agrees, "Ya, it's just Cale. He's a bit of a grump, but mostly a sweetheart."

"Besides, he's had a _monster_ crush on you for ages," A new voice interjects loudly, followed shortly after by tall, curvy Slytherin bombshell Margo Amos. She grins at her friends as she saunters up beside Tonks, then adds, "Everyone knows, and it's only cuz you're both so painfully shy that he waited until now to ask you."

"He has?" Izzy gapes, barely remembering to breathe, "Since when? Oh, never mind, I don't want to know. Look, it's not that I don't like Cale, I do... it's just... how can I ever have a normal relationship with him? I can't touch anyone, so how are we supposed to hold hands, or hug, or..."

The girl trails off, blushing as she hides her face behind a veil of long amber curls. Her three friends laugh riotously, Margo teasing, "Or what? Or KISS? AWWWW!!! Our little Izzy is growing up! We're gonna have to have _The Talk_ with her, aren't we girls?"

"Oh, leave her be," Daisy scolds, giggling a little too hard for it to be completely sincere, even though she kicks Margo in the arse, sending the tall Slytherin off down the hall singing, "_Cale and Izzy sitting in a tree! Doing things they shouldn't be!_"

"It's a disaster!" The petite brunette asserts once again, hugging her books tighter. "It is not," Daisy soothes quietly, wishing that she could do something more to comfort her friend aside from trying to talk her out of this panic, "You're going to be perfectly fine. Now, stop overthinking this, or we'll all be late, and you know how Yori gets."

Izzy grumbles an incoherent reply, still hugging her books and cursing herself for not being so limited by the scars on her mind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There it is folks. Hope you liked it! In case you hadn't caught on, this one fast forwards a bit from the last. Izzy is a seventh year. Anyways, I'm back at school now and classes start again tomorrow. Don't expect too much from me but I will do my best to update as often as possible. Reviews will help remove the sting of having to return to class.


	11. Part 11: New Light

Part 11 - New Light

On a Tuesday night in the middle of February, at exactly two minutes to eight, Charlie Weasley finds himself standing nervously just outside a disused classroom on the fourth floor of Hogwarts castle. The short youth is sweating bullets, and is more anxious than he can remember being in quite a long time.

So much is riding on this one meeting that he doesn't know if he's going to be able to handle it. He wishes he were smarter, or nicer, or just not so stubborn. Maybe if he were smarter, like Bill and Percy, or charming, like the twins, or sweet, like Ron, he wouldn't have gotten himself into this horrible mess to begin with.

But there's not much the stocky redhead can do about altering his personality. And comparing himself to his brothers just makes him more nervous. At the moment, he needs to concentrate on persuading a girl who hates him to help him pass his classes, stay on the quidditch team, and graduate as scheduled. He slowly pushes open the door, and peeks inside the small, bright room.

Izzy is already there, seated on the far side of a wide table, her hands folded neatly in front of herself as she stares coldly straight at him. Before she heard the door creak open, she'd been watching the old clock on the opposite wall, hoping that Charlie would be even a second late so that she could leave, but, unfortunately, he's right on time, and the young woman curses silently.

"Hi," The sheepish redhead greets, giving a crooked, friendly smile as he steps fully into the almost blindingly bright room, institutional white walls seeming to vibrate from the intensity of the light bouncing off of them.

"Hello," Izzy answers coolly, her stony expression not betraying any of the anger or fear that are gnawing away at her insides, "Please, have a seat."

Moving with graceful speed that startles the girl, Charlie does exactly as he's told, and he's across from her in mere seconds. Izzy has to consciously keep herself from recoiling.

"I... um..." The freckled seeker begins, sounding very unsure, "I just wanted to say thank you for agreeing to help me..."

Fear is momentarily pushed aside by annoyance, and she snaps, "I didn't _agree_ to anything. I wasn't given much of a choice on the matter, and, that said, I would like to get this over as quickly and with as little chit-chat as possible."

"Oh," Charlie answers, blushing as he drops his gaze, "Ya, that makes more sense. No problem."

Taking a deep breath, the girl across from him tries to calm herself as she says, "Alright then. Which classes do you need help with?" Still unable to look up, the red on his face getting several shades darker, Charlie replies, "Um... all of them..."

The snide comments itching to gush from her mouth scare Izzy. She's never had the kinds of mean thoughts she's thinking now, and she doesn't like hating someone enough to have spawned them. Consciously having to keep the thoughts inside, she states flatly, "Ok then. Take out all your notes, and the assignments you're working on."

Charlie shakes as he complies, and, not used to these kinds of nerves, clumsily drops papers and books over and over. Once they are all in a huge--unnecessarily so, in Izzy's opinion--pile of disarray, he slides them slowly across the table.

"While I'm looking at these," She instructs curtly, her face already concealed behind wild curls as she sorts through rolls of parchment, "You tell me everything you can remember from lessons today." Charlie makes a strange face, but decides it wouldn't be wise to argue, so he uncertainly begins to recite what he recalls, realizing that, since Izzy is in most of his classes, she'll know what he misses.

While he speaks, the girl is pouring over the parchments, having trouble with his jagged handwriting, but still able to understand most of what it says. The frown on her face gets deeper and deeper as the minutes tick by. Charlie's notes don't make sense, they're jumbled, and incoherent, and misspelled all over, complete with tangential inner monologues she doesn't think the boy actually meant to write down. Letters are backwards, and swapped, and there seems to be a very severe issue with 'b's and 'd's, as well as 'p's and 'q's being confused. Yet, as she listens to the redhead speak, Izzy realizes that he seems to have at least an average grasp of all the material. In fact, the ease at which he remembers things she normally would've had to study long hours to retain is quite impressive.

His low performance and seemingly sharp mind don't match up. Something is wrong here, something that isn't at all as simple as the boy being dumb or lazy because he's clearly not either.

Charlie is starting to get very nervous. He's been talking for almost twenty minutes straight, and Izzy hasn't so much as glanced up at him once. He's not even sure if she's listening, and she's bent so low over his notes that he can't see the expression on her face, can't tell if it's good or bad.

When the small girl finally does bring her head up out of the parchments, she's got such a fierce look in her eyes that Charlie is slightly startled and even more unnerved. "Here," She orders bluntly, handing an open book across the table to him, "Read."

"Huh?" He squeaks uncertainly, still shaking slightly as he goes on, "Um, what... what part?" Staring blankly, Izzy shrugs and states, "It doesn't matter, any is fine."

Still confused, Charlie nods, and looks down into the open page. He's never been very good at reading, which is why he only does so when he's alone. The boy often has to sound out the words to himself, and it's incredibly embarrassing. But, he won't argue with Izzy, and starts reading from the middle of the page, "Pom... pom-e-gran-ate jui-ce is used prim... p-rim-ar-ily in the brew-ing of the st-ren-g-th-en-ing... strengthening... sol-u-tion. The s... seeds can be m-ade into the sp-ice an... an-ar... an-ard..."

He stops, glaring at the word he can't decipher until Izzy prompts softly, "_Anardana_."

Immediately, his face turns deep red, and he mumbles, "Thanks," before repeating the sentence in its entirety, "The seeds can be made into the spice anardana..."

"That's enough," Izzy interjects, having heard more than necessary for the theory she has to have been reinforced. She bites her lip, wanting to observe one more thing before coming to a conclusion. "Write those two sentences, please," She asks, her voice far softer and kinder than before as she slides a quill and scrap of parchment across to Charlie.

Again, he complies, struggling through the exercise. Just the way he holds the quill worries Izzy, his grip claw-like and primitive. After nearly ten full minutes, when she gets a look at his final product, at the swapped, backward, and confused letters, her suspicion is confirmed.

"Have you ever been tested for a learning disability?" She inquires, her expression kind and open as she gazes across the wide table. Frowning, Charlie replies, "Um... I dunno... what's that?"

Struggling with how to phrase her explanation, Izzy answers softly, "Well, I suppose it's not very well-known in the wizarding world, but certain people just have natural difficulties with learning. The one I think you have is called dyslexia, and it's fairly common. The way you confuse letters and sometimes write them backwards are both classic symptoms. You remember more about today's lessons than I do, so that's not where you're struggling. You can't seem to... interpret the words you read, or transfer your thoughts into writing, so it would explain why you get low scores on your tests and essays."

"Oh," Is the only response Charlie can manage, hanging his head in shame. He always knew there was something wrong with him; he just never knew there was a name for it. All the years he's spent fighting to keep up with his peers, all the nights he's sat up alone struggling to read a mere page or two, have already made him certain that he's stupid. Izzy diagnosis just confirms it.

Upon seeing Charlie's freckled face fall, Izzy can feel her heart breaking and immediately leans closer, insisting frankly, "No, no, it's not like that! Being dyslexic only means you have trouble with reading and writing, not that you're not smart. Honestly! It's not your fault at all, and, now that we know, there are loads of ways to make it easier on you."

As he picks his head up, Charlie gives a hopeful half-smile. "Really?" He asks, sort of unsure, "You're not just saying that?"

"Of course not," Izzy insists, sounding passionate and sincere, "Frankly, I'm appalled that I'm the first one to notice your problem. It really does say something about the short-comings of the wizarding educational system, you know? If you'd been born a muggle, the dyslexia probably would have been diagnosed soon after you started school, and you would've had the help you needed all these years instead of having to struggle through and be labeled as slow."

Starting to feel a little more at ease with this situation, Charlie chuckles. The petite brunette across from him quite is a fireball when she gets riled up, and seeing that is really something. Although, he doesn't know what to make of the butterflies he gets in his stomach when he thinks about all that intensity being focused on him...

"Right, well," He states softly, steeling himself to follow whatever course of action Izzy prescribes, "So, what do I do?"

Also beginning to feel far more relaxed, as well as not quite so spiteful, the girl gives a weak smile, and answers, "First, I'll have to write off for some tests, to confirm it, as well as some books and tools to help you. I'll talk to McGonogall about getting you permission to start taking exams orally. The teachers are all sure to make an exception once they understand the situation... um, in the meantime, you should get yourself a dictating quill. That will help keep your assignments free of the mistakes you make when you write. I believe Scrivenshaft's shop sells a few models. You should stop in during the Hogsmeade trip Saturday.

"I'll do that," Charlie agrees, a large grin splitting his freckled face, his blue eyes shining with happiness, "Thank you."

For some reason, the statement makes Izzy blush. She wants to keep on hating Charlie. Even though it's an unpleasant sensation, she has every right to hate him, and knows that she should, but when he looks at her like that it's very hard.

"Don't thank me yet," She mutters shyly, "I haven't really done anything."

"Sure you have," Charlie insists, his gaze utterly adoring and awe-filled, "You figured out what's wrong with me. Always knew there was something, but everyone, even my own bloody mum, just kept telling me that I wasn't trying hard enough. Really, thank you. I don't know how I'll ever repay you for this."

"I don't want anything from you," Is Izzy's icy reply, her brown eyes narrowing dangerously. She _almost_ let her guard down, almost let herself forget how much she hates Charlie, but the thought of him thinking he was indebted to her, or him attaching himself to her beyond these meetings snapped her back into reality.

He visibly winces, dropping his gaze once more, knowing that he is most definitely not yet forgiven for how he treated the girl all those years ago. He feels horrible because he knows he doesn't deserve forgiveness, but still desperately wants it. There is nothing in his life that he has ever regretted more than what he did to Izzy, and if he could find a way to make her understand that, he thinks, than maybe, just maybe she'd see that he's not the monster his behavior suggests.

"Sorry," Charlie mutters guiltily, unable to come up with anything else to say, "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Fine," She grumbles in reply, checking the clock, and delivering a silent prayer to whatever higher power is in charge of time when it reads that she can leave now. "We're finished," The girl goes on, quickly gathering her books as she prepares to make an escape, "I'll see you here tomorrow at the same time."

"Ok," Charlie agrees, frozen and shell-shocked as he watches Izzy getting ready to leave. He wants to talk to her, to apologize again for what he did to her all those years ago, but isn't sure how to even bring it up. There really is no tactful way to broach the subject of purposeful betrayal, attempted rape, and near death.

But he also can't let her go without saying _something_, just to let her know that he hasn't forgotten it, that he's not going to pretend it never happened, that he still regrets what he did.

She's already opening the door when Charlie snaps out of his thoughts, and, filled with resolve, he stands sharply. Even before the redhead slams the door shut with his broad, rough hand, Izzy is jumping away from him in a startled panic.

The girl is terrified, her back colliding with the bright white plaster far too soon. She doesn't know what's going to happen now, because Charlie has a fierce, intense look in his clear blue eyes, and he's completely blocking the door, holding her hostage for a reason she has yet to determine, and can only guess about with the pessimistic bias of one who has suffered far too much to trust blindly in fairy tale endings.

"I know you don't want to hear it," He states, seeming very serious and frank, "And you can hit me again if you want, but I'm still sorry for what I did."

Relief washes over Izzy, quickly replacing the fear she was feeling. Charlie just wants to go dredging up the past, he still wants forgiveness for the unforgivable. The girl gets angry.

"Get out of my way, Charlie!" She snaps, her deep amber eyes blazing with fiery rage, "I told you how I feel about what happened, those feelings have not changed, and I most definitely don't want to talk about them with _you!_"

"I just..." The boy answers, significantly more sheepish, though stubbornly refusing to break eye contact, "I just can't pretend it never happen... I almost killed you, and I think about it all the time. I don't care anymore if you never forgive me. I get that you can't because what I did was too horrible. I'll never understand how you feel, and I can never change what happened, but I figured out that getting you to forgive me isn't important, it not the point..."

Slightly intrigued, Izzy's expression softens almost indiscernibly. She cocks her head to the side as she listens. Charlie sounds almost shy as he continues, "I guess... I just wanted you to know that I'm not like that anymore, that I'm different because I realized how much I hurt you, and how much you didn't deserve it. I was stupid, and stubborn, and selfish, and I didn't want to be that kind of person. So now... now, I'm just sorry for everything."

Before that moment, neither of the teens had noticed that the bright, pure white lights illuminating their small, clinical room didn't seem to have any origin. No torches are mounted on the walls, nor lamps from the ceiling, and, though the bright white plaster seems to reflect and amplify the light, it is not the source from which it comes. It's inexplicable, and comes from nowhere.

Charlie has already been finished with his speech for a few long, trembling, heavy-breathing moments when the blinding light begins to go dim. At first, the change is unnoticeable, but, gradually, gentle shadow begins to pull at all the shapes scattered throughout the tight space, the furniture and books, Charlie and Izzy.

Secretly, Charlie has always thought Izzy was beautiful, but the soft light falling on her delicate features makes her look absolutely stunning, almost frail, but, on second glance, carved out of stone by fire and horror. Polished smooth by her stubborn will to not crumble under the strain of living. Radiating with an impenetrable glow of strength, and intelligence, and kindness. Unbreakable. Untouchable.

Unlike the redhead, Izzy has never had any secret admiration for her nemesis. She has always seen Charlie as nothing but cruel. Now, however, the faint light seems to pierce to a depth that she in no way before would have even suspected in him. He's warm, and sensitive, and caring, and brave, and even his stubbornness, when it's channeled towards good instead of hate, is a wonderful quality in him. Obviously, he's matured since last she acknowledged his existence. He's not a mean, spiteful little boy anymore; he's a young man with a strong mind and an even stronger conscience, neither of which she thought him capable of possessing.

The dim turns to pitch blackness in an instant, and the two teens are still reeling so much from their brief glimpses into one another's hearts that it takes them a moment of having their heads spin in the dark to realize that the mysterious, blinding light has completely left their small room.

"What happened?" Izzy demands into the abyss that has engulfed her. Groping for his wand, cursing softly to himself when he bangs his shin on a chair and still comes up empty-handed, Charlie replies, "Aside from that the castle is a bloody mental patient? No clue."

In a blind daze, disoriented, he stumbles about looking for the door. However, the girl chooses the exact moment that his thick, freckled body has come within barely a few inches of her own to regain her wits, and light her wand. The softly muttered spell quickly becomes a blood curdling shriek as his pale face is suddenly illuminated so close to hers, appearing out of the dark like a phantom.

Completely on edge, she tries to jump back from the sight, only to meet with the wall her back was already firmly pressed against. Still, rationality no longer has a place in the girl's normally brilliant mind, and her need to escape becomes a frightening, urgent compulsion. She twists off to the side, shielding her face behind her forearms as the light on her wand gutters out, throwing the room back into the darkness.

His ears still ringing from the scream, and his eyes still throbbing from the sudden, brief flash of light, Charlie barely has a moment of calm amidst the black before he hears clumsy, terrified feet scuffling against the floor, tripping over one another, and then the whooshing, airy nothingness of a body falling, giving way to the sharp, sickening crack of skull meeting a hard surface. And then, almost imperceptible, a little thud as a slight mass of human being crumbles to the floor. Even it's motionless collapse afterwards seems to have a sound, faint, pained breathing which grips him like a vice low in his gut as he goes about groping blindly for the dropped wand.

When he finally manages to recover it, the young man conjures light in an instant, and the small room is bathed in a dim blue glow. Izzy is on the floor, and the crack he heard must have been her head hitting the table, he realizes, because she's got a hand pressed feebly to her right temple, and her eyes are barely open, looking glazed over and unfocused behind heavy lids. She's reeling from it, he can tell, a bit of an expert on knocks to the head, having been educated on the matter first hand through the observation and experience that come with being raised among a handful of rough-housing brothers, as well as an immersion in quidditch and all the injuries that come with the sport.

"Are you alright?" He asks, immediately kneeling beside the girl's sprawled form, his heart breaking as soon as she whimpers out of some overwhelming combination of pain and terror.

"Izzy," He presses insistently, barely remembering not to touch her, "Izzy, can you hear me?"

Very weakly, she nods, her amber curls spread into a halo on the stone floor, shifting with the movement. "Good," Charlie responds, pleased that at least she's not unconscious, "Move your hand then so I can see if you're bleeding."

She does as she's told, compliantly revealing a growing knot, but, thankfully, no blood, and the boy still kneeling over her gives a sigh of relief. "Lucky break, just a nasty lump. Can you sit up?" He continues, trying not let himself sound as scared as he is, especially when Izzy tries to do what he says, and falls back to the floor with a low whine of pain.

"I'm dizzy," She mumbles, her half-opened eyes starting to drift shut, "But don't tell Tonks. She'll make that _stupid_ joke again."

After pausing briefly, Charlie suddenly understands, and can't help but laugh. "Ok," He reassures the girl, thinking of how cute she is even though she's hurt as he starts gathering both their belongings, "I promise I won't tell her."

Once he has his own backpack, as well as Izzy's heavy, overstuffed satchel slung over his shoulders, he kneels beside the girl once more. "Alright, Iz," He soothes, quite used to the procedure for head injuries. Hell, he had to take two of his teammates to the nurse just yesterday. His beaters, while skilled, are careless, and often don't pay attention to where their serves go. He'd much rather have his little brothers, Fred and George, but they're just first years, so not eligible.

"Izzy," He states firmly, getting her to pay attention to him when he talks to her, to look up at him with those big brown eyes that do weird things to his stomach, "Ok, we're going to the hospital wing now. Since you can't walk, I'm going to have to carry you."

"No," She insists, sounding like a grouchy, misbehaving toddler, "No, don't touch me."

"But..." Charlie argues, racking his brains for some other way to get her to the nurse. He'd levitate her, except that he's very bad at that charm, and it's very likely the boy would just end up dropping her on her head again. Briefly, he considers leaving her and going for help, but that isn't an option either. She needs to be kept awake, or her condition could turn a lot more serious.

"How about this," He offers, grinning to put her at ease, "I won't touch you, but you've got to grab onto me so that I can take you to the hospital wing, ok?"

Charlie's gamble on the girl's lack of rational thought seems to pay off. She gets a very concentrated look on her face, mulling over the suggestion, and, not able to find anything wrong with it, agrees, "Ok."

"Excellent," He responds, beaming as he leans over her, "Go ahead, put your legs over my arm, and your arms around my neck, and hold on tight." Slowly, clumsily, she does so, making quiet, pained noises that have Charlie frowning. He's rather worried, but doesn't want to alarm the girl, so tries to stay upbeat, warning brightly, "Alright, I'm going to pick you up now, so make sure you're hanging on. Are you ready?"

"Ya," She breathes weakly, cuddling very close to the redhead's chest, clinging to his body heat and smoky smell because everything else is so blurry and frightening and painful, "Charlie, why does my head hurt?"

Once he's hoisted Izzy off the ground and maneuvered both of them out of the room, the boy answers softly, "Because you hit it on the table, remember? That's why we're going to the hospital wing, so that Madame P. can make you feel better."

"I don't like the hospital wing," She reports grumpily, resting her head against Charlie's shoulder and letting her eyes drift shut.

He gives her a light shake to keep her awake, picks up his pace, and responds, "I know. I remember that time you broke your ribs in Charms, and Professor Archer had to order you to go."

For a few moments, Izzy is silent, and Charlie continues to walk through the mostly dark and deserted hallways. But then he feels the girl tense up, and she gasps, "OH! I remember that, too! I jumped into my shield charm, and... and... you called me a COW!"

Turning bright red, the boy states, "Ya... I'm sorry for that." Izzy just shrugs, relaxing in his arms as she mumbles something sounding suspiciously like, "It's ok. I am one."

"What?" Charlie demands, surprised and a little bit outraged that she would make such a statement. "I am a cow," She clarifies, louder and clearer this time, her eyes drifting shut again, "I am. Jordan used to say so all the time. Cow. Fatso. Stupid. Ugly. Bitch. Whore. Fucking useless baby. He was always right about everything, so he was probably right about that stuff, too."

"No," Charlie snaps, extremely pissed, "He was wrong. You're none of those things, and your brother never deserved you for making you think so."

For a few moments, the girl in his arms is quiet, but then her head forward flops, like her neck can't support it any longer, and she whimpers, "Charlie, why does my head hurt?" Trying to mentally estimate how much longer until he reaches the hospital wing, the boy gives a heavy sigh, and answers, "Because you hit it on the table, remember? That's why we're going to the hospital wing, so Madame P. can make you feel better." Izzy squirms, whimpering, "I don't like the hospital wing."

This time, the boy limits his response to a curt, "I know."

xxXxx

For Cale Eyret, doing his prefect rounds is almost never fun, but, tonight, it's downright annoying. He's stuck with Nymphadora Tonks, and she's been staring at him and giggling for the past hour. If the neon Ravenclaw weren't one of Izzy's best friends, then he most definitely would've hexed her by now. He really has very little patience.

"What's so damn funny?" He finally demands, trying not to blush because he already knows the answer. Sure enough, Tonks gives another light snicker, and then sings teasingly, "You like Izzy!"

A slight pink blush spreads over his cheeks, and the boy tries to hide it by letting his long, messy blonde hair fall to cover it. "So?" He demands gruffly, trying with all his might not to let his face turn beet red.

Giving another giggle, Tonks soothes, "There's nothing wrong with it, mate. I just think it's great that you finally got your head out of your arse and made your move."

"Um..." The boys drawls, still a bit embarrassed to be having this conversation, "Thanks? She told you guys about our date, huh?"

"Yup," The girl states, absentmindedly wrapping a hot pink curl around her fingers, "She's excited, but scared as hell, so you'd just better not muck it up." He nods gravely, and gets very thoughtful, letting Tonks go back to her giggling as he gets lost in his own mind.

A few minutes later, both prefects are about to turn a corner when they hear a soft, familiar whisper of, "Charlie, why does my head hurt?"

"Because you hit it on the table, remember?" Comes the gentle answer, getting closer by the second, "That's why we're going to the hospital wing, so Madame P. can make you feel better."

"What the..." Cale gasps quietly, picking up his pace as he hears, "I don't like the hospital wing." Izzy. It's Izzy, he's sure of it, and she doesn't sound right.

He would never have guess what comes next, Charlie Weasley rounding the corner carrying Izzy's small body in his arms.

Cale really doesn't like the tender way the redhead is looking at the girl, _his_ girl. "I know," Charlie tells her, continuing to keep a close eye on her face as he walks at a brisk pace.

"OY!" Cale shouts running forward, "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing to her?" Charlie is startled, but Izzy is scared, whining softly as she clings tighter to the redhead's chest.

"Shh," The boy soothes quietly, glaring at Cale as the Slytherin stops in front of him, "It's ok. It's just your mate, Cale. No one's going to hurt you."

"What are you doing with her?" Cale shrieks, irate, and feeling irrationally possessive. Glaring, Charlie snaps, "She got herself a knock on the head, so I'm taking her to Pomfrey."

Immediately concerned, Cale demands, "Ya? And how did she do that? You feed her another spiked drink, you psychopath?"

Charlie flinches, and feels guilty, but responds with a defensive, "No. The lights went out in the room we were in, and she tripped, and hit her head on a table. Stop being an arse so I can take her to get looked at."

"You're not taking her anywhere!" The tall Slytherin insists, immediately trying to seize Izzy, "Give her to me right now!"

"AHHHHH!!!" Upon being touched, the girl starts screaming at the top of her lungs, kicking clumsily as she clings tighter to Charlie. Slightly hurt by the reaction, Cale still keeps pawing at Izzy until she's shrieking and crying into Charlie's chest.

"CALE!!" Tonks shouts, finally shoving him away, "STOP IT!! Leave her alone!!" She's been watching the entire scene with a feeling of impending disaster. Cale and Charlie can't stand each other, and have never been able to stand each other. They're glaring at each other like a pair of rams about to butt heads because it seems like seeing Charlie holding Izzy is making Cale unbelievably jealous.

"She's hurt, you idiot!" The young Ravenclaw growls as she pulls the taller boy back, "Stop touching her, and just let Charlie get her to Madame P!"

Reluctant, swearing under his breath, Cale finally complies. _'Why is she letting Charlie touch her?'_ He thinks angrily, _'Why will she let him touch her, but not me?'_ Already, seeds of jealousy are germinating inside him.

Quickly, the small group walks the rest of the way to the hospital wing, with only the sounds of Izzy's frightened sniffles being heard.

When they arrive, Charlie tries to put the delirious girl down into one of the vacant cots, but she's terrified and confused and won't let go of him. Desperately trying not to like her face pressed into his chest and her arms around his neck, the redhead settles for sitting down on the cot, holding Izzy in his lap as he waits for Tonks to come back with the nurse.

Which would have been fine with him if it hadn't been for Cale Eyret. The boy sits down in the next cot and just _glares_, absolutely seething mad at both Charlie and Izzy.

"Charlie," Izzy whines softly, slurring her words just a little bit, "Why does my head hurt?"

And suddenly Charlie doesn't care anymore that Cale is mad. He's just worried about the slight girl in his arms. "Because you hit it on the table, remember?" He states once more, keeping his tone gentle, "We're in the hospital wing, and Madame P. is going to fix you up."

Not even halfway through the explanation, Izzy's eyes start drifting shut again. Charlie has to shake her light again, to keep her awake until she gets a potion. He doesn't want to be responsible for putting her in another coma...

"What were you doing with her when she fell?" Cale demands gruffly, his long arms crossed over his broad, wiry chest. Charlie doesn't want to admit what a fuck up he is. He's embarrassed of his learning disability and doesn't feel the need to let this Slytherin jerk-off know about it. "None of your business," He bites back, his cheeks burning red as he keeps up a close watch on Izzy's face.

"What have you done this time, Weasley?" The nurse demands immediately upon stepping into the room, her hands on her round hips as she glowers dangerously from beneath her disheveled gray bangs, "Another live target day for your beaters? Or perhaps more dangerous and prohibited pet of yours have escaped and been reeking havoc? Well, what'll it be today then?"

With a slightly mocking smile, glad to, for once, be mostly blameless in this hospital visit, Charlie responds, "Izzy tripped and bumped her head on a table."

After a moment of stunned, uncomfortable silence, the matron softly mutters, "Oh... well... let's a have a look then."

"AHHHHHH!!!!!" Izzy immediately screams, crying and almost squealing as she tries to escape from the woman's touch. "No!" She whimpers, sobbing and clutching tightly to Charlie, "No! I don't want to! Where's Jordy? I want Jordy!"

An expression of confusion passes over the faces of both Cale and Tonks. Eventually, the young Slytherin inquires, "Who's Jordy?"

"Her brother," Charlie answers plainly, not skipping a beat and making Cale instantly see red, literally and figuratively. He's glaring so hard at the top of Charlie Weasley's flaming red head that the color seems to bleed into the surroundings, coloring everything around the Gryffindor, including Izzy... _his_ Izzy...

"Izzy, shhh," Charlie soothes, choosing to ignore Cale's obvious anger in favor of comforting the distraught girl in his arms. His heart aches for her, for all that she's lost, for the fact that she still just wants her big brother back. "It's alright," The redhead murmurs, rocking her softly as his arms tighten into a safe, protective embrace, "No one's going to hurt you. Relax. I promise."

She's not comforted by the assertion, grabbing handfuls of a white cotton shirt as she weeps and shudders against a chest that she can't remember the owner of. The strong arms wrapped around her small body should be just as terrifying as the rest of the situation, but, somehow, they're not. They're attached to the chest, and she's the one holding onto that. It's calming just to have something to hold on to. The muscles beneath her palms are hot and firm, and she's never known touch to feel like this... actually good.

"Please," She begs breathlessly, hiccupping as she finally starts to settle down in Charlie's embrace, "Don't hurt me."

Charlie's own breath catches in his throat and he can feel that familiar guilt squeezing in around his heart. He's already hurt this girl once before, and he's never gotten over it. He doesn't think he ever will.

"Have her drink this," Madame Pomfrey instructs quietly, handing Charlie a steaming glass of sedation and healing potions that he doesn't have much trouble getting Izzy to swallow down. Slowly, the petite brunette's breathing evens out, her eyes fall shut, and she drifts off to sleep.

"Set her down in the cot, Mr. Weasley," The nurse instructs, already shooing Cale and Tonks from the room. Charlie does what he's told, so very careful with the delicate little china doll in his arms that Pomfrey chides him, "Some time today, Mr. Weasley."

"Ya, sorry," He mumbles, his cheeks burning as he stands upright. He only has a few moments to look over Izzy's finally peaceful face before the nurse hurries him out of the room.

xxXxx

It's early the next morning when Izzy finally wakes up, slowly opening her eyes to the dim light of the hospital wing and then spending a few moments trying to figure out where she is... and why someone's head is resting on her stomach...

"Shit!" She yelps, immediately panicking and shoving the offending person off of her. Grunting in pain as his forehead smacks hard against the metal bedframe, Cale receives a pretty rude awakening.

The boy knew that it probably wasn't a good idea to sneak back into the hospital wing after dark, just as he knew it wasn't a good idea to touch Izzy just because she was unconscious and unable to stop him. However, he couldn't help himself. And, besides, she didn't seem to have a problem with that arsehole Weasley carrying her. Cale had been her friend for years and felt that he earned more privileges in that department than just about anyone else.

So he's shocked when he looks up to find Izzy staring at him wide-eyed and frightened, breathing hard and shrinking away from. "W-What are you doing here?" The girl asks, panting and looking close to panic. Cale was touching her and she was too out of it to stop him. He could've done anything to her..

'_No, Cale is my friend,'_ She berates herself, _'He understands I don't like being touched, and he wouldn't take advantage of me like that... he wouldn't... he... probably just fell asleep and his head dropped onto my stomach..._

"Sorry, Bel," The tall blonde soothes, sending her a tired grin, "You just looked too comfy. How do you feel?

"My head hurts," Izzy responds, infinitely more freaked. He did lie on top of her on purpose. Why would he do something like that? He had to have known she wouldn't want him to... and yet he did it anyways... The girl begins to shake slightly, for the first time in their long friendship feeling mistrust and... fear for Cale.

"Well, you smacked it pretty hard," He reports, yawning obliviously as he gets up and stretches, not even seeing Izzy flinch and shrink away from him as he stands to his full, towering height, "You supposedly tripped in a dark room with Charlie Weasley around, or at least that's his story. Tell me you remember different because I'd _love_ an excuse to give the damn prat a black eye or two."

"I-I..." Izzy begins, trying hard to remember, getting a headache she does, "No, don't hurt him. He was telling the truth... I was assigned to tutor him. The lights went off and I fell... and... he carried me here..."

The memory is a strange one, feeling vague and fuzzy but still mostly complete. She let Charlie carry her. She let him touch her. And she can't remember feeling afraid of him... why?

Pouting disappointedly, Cale remarks, "Oh. Alright then. As long as he wasn't picking on you again. I'm going to get a shower and I'll be back before breakfast. Hopefully Pomfrey will let you go, ok?" At a slight nod from the small Gryffindor in the cot, Cale smiles and strolls out, whistling happily over having gotten to spend an evening having his fill of stroking soft cheeks, and petting amber curls, and even stealing a kiss before finally using the girl of his dreams' stomach as a pillow. Izzy won't care if she never finds out, and, besides, she let Charlie carry her all the way to the hospital wing. It's only fair this way...

Cale is gone, but the wild-haired girl he left behind is still no closer to coming to terms with the fact that she no longer trusts one of her best friends and can't stop thinking about her worst enemy, the gentle redhead with the crooked grin...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Review if ya love me :D


	12. Part 12: The Girl's Got Guts

Part 12 - The Girl's Got Guts

"Come on, Bel! You said you'd come!" Cale begs, his expression somewhere between cross, bratty pouting and a full on temper tantrum as he pleads at the petite girl across from him.

Sighing heavily as she finishes balancing the last of her Arithmancy equations, Izzy Cooper brings her deep amber eyes up from her parchment and fixes her tall friend with a very stern glare. "I know," She states, her voice sharp but not quite hostile (though Cale has no idea how she always manages to do that), "And I already told you that I'm sorry, but I can't go. I'm tutoring Charlie again. Pestering me isn't going to change that."

"You've been _tutoring Charlie_ every night this week!" Cale bellows, earning a disembodied _SHHHH!_ from the librarian. Calming himself down, the boy leans in closer and quietly hisses, "_And_ you just met with him at lunchtime! _And_ spent all of dinner working on stuff for him! You're spending all your time with that pillock!"

Looking unaffected but growing extremely annoyed, Izzy begins packing her books as she scolds, "Don't call names, and that's because he needs a lot of help. I spent just as much time working with you when I first started tutoring you, so stop moaning."

Standing in a huff, the girl balls her small fists at her slim hips as she scolds, "I was assigned to keep him from flunking off the quidditch team and to make sure he passes his NEWTs, and that is _exactly_ what I intend to do. If you have a problem with it, then tough luck."

She was planning on storming off just to prove a point, but suddenly feels guilty over the way her friend is sadly hanging his head. With a frustrated groan, she whispers kindly, "I'll try to make it to poker night if I can, but no promises, alright?"

"Ok," Cale concedes half-heartedly, still cranky but actually managing a smirk, "I guess as long as you don't blow me off for our date this weekend, I'm cool with that."

Her cheeks staining slightly pink, Izzy agrees, "Of course I wouldn't. Well, um, I'll see you tomorrow then. Bye."

"Bye, Bel," The blonde Slytherin murmurs, tightening the tie on his short ponytail as he watches her leave. He's still not happy with the situation. Not one bit. It's bad enough having to share his girl with Myron all the time, but now Weasley, too? That's just wrong.

He wants Izzy all to himself and isn't about to let some rocks-for-brains Gryffindor jock stand in his way...

xxXxx

"This is excellent," Izzy beams as she looks up from checking Charlie's latest homework assignment. The redhead blushes hotly, cracking a small smile and rather pleased that he was the one who put the proud, beautiful expression on Izzy Cooper's face.

"Thanks," He replies, fidgeting with his quill and trying to ignore the hot, tightening sensation he gets low in his gut whenever the pretty brunette looks at him like that. "I got my dad to send me a dictating quill from his office," The boy explains, "Just like you said, and that's really helped. And that read-a-loud spell you taught me, that's great, too. It's a lot easier to remember what I'm reading if I don't have to concentrate on making sure I'm getting the words right."

"I thought so," Izzy states, grinning brightly, "From what I've read on dyslexics, it's fairly common to have difficulty linking printed words to their meanings. Your poor comprehension and retention come from too much energy being spent on decoding words. We'll have to work on that later, but for now, just make sure to follow along in your books while the spell reads out loud. And don't just use your eyes. It will help to actually physically keep up with your fingers, or perhaps a scrap of parchment."

With a dutiful nod, Charlie states, "Sure. I can do that." Delighted, the girl across from him neatly rolls up his Charms homework as she announces, "Good. And I talked to Professors Archer, McGonogall, and Snape today. All agreed to let you take the written parts of tomorrow's tests orally. I haven't spoken with Binns yet, but I'm sure I can catch him at breakfast in the morning, and I see no reason why he won't do the same."

Grinning, Charlie only has the brainpower to reply, "Wicked. Thanks."

"Now then," Izzy goes on, pulling forward and thick, dusty textbook, "We just have to work on getting you to remember the dates you'll need to know for the History of Magic test."

Frowning, Charlie claims, "I'm no good with numbers." Brightly, the girl across from him announces, "I've thought of that. You like quidditch, right?"

Snorting, the redhead answers, "I'm the captain of the team. Of course I _like_ it. Like isn't really the right word."

"No need to get catty," Izzy scolds lightly, already flipping through the textbook, "Just tell me who your favorite players are."

"Past or present?" The boy inquires, smirking when Izzy arches an eyebrow. "Both," She prompts challengingly, "Along with reasons why, famous acts they committed and the years they did so, and what numbers they wore."

"Alright," Charlie answers, more than happy to meet her challenge, "My favorite from the past would have to be Gwendolyn Morgan. She wore number 25 and was the captain of the Holyhead Harpies when they beat the Heidelberg Harriers out for a playoff spot in 1953. At the end of the seven-day-long match that is widely recognized as one of the best in history, the captain of the Harriers asked her to marry him. She concussed him with her broom."

Izzy giggles into her hand. Charlie decides that he very much likes to make her giggle before continuing, "My present favorite is Galvin Gudgeon-"

"That Canons seeker who fell off his broom chasing a butterfly?" Izzy cuts him off, laughing almost too hard to speak, harder when Charlie gives a sincere nod. Fighting the smirk on his own face, the boy continues, "Yes, he fell off his broom chasing a butterfly during the Tornados match over the summer. Gudgeon wears double-zeros, and the Canons manager has had to constantly level pleas for fans to not curse him during matches. While playing the Appleby Arrows, he let the snitch bounce off his nose twice, and is the only seeker in the history of the game to simultaneously knock out three players from his own team."

Laughing, Izzy states, "That's wonderful that you remembered all that, but he doesn't sound very good. Why on earth is he your favorite?"

"Because," Charlie counters, grinning proudly, "My little brother Ronnie really likes the Canons. I took him to that game when Gudgeon fell off his broom, and he's loved him every since... though I don't think he realizes that Gudgeon is actually one of the players. Ron sees him more as some sort of clown or mascot."

Snickering, Izzy counters, "That's so sweet. How old is he?" His chest swelling with pride, the boy answers, "He's nine. He was kind of down this summer because he knew Fred and George would be leaving for Hogwarts, so I tried to spend some extra time with him."

"Aw," The petite brunette coos, "How nice of you to do that for your brother." Blushing all the way up to his hairline, Charlie can only manage a shrug.

"Well," The girl continues, "We shouldn't get distracted. The quidditch exercise did have a point."

"Which would be?" The stocky redhead teases, flashing a cheeky grin just because he likes the way Izzy narrows her big, gorgeous brown eyes and purses her full, pouty pink lips at him. "Which would be," She states in her best no-nonsense voice, "That you don't have a problem with numbers. You have a problem with making dates relatable and therefore interesting enough to be memorable. When the subject is quidditch, you remember dates and events, as well as player numbers, because you care about quidditch. Now, me, I could care less about the sport, so it probably wouldn't matter how hard I tried, I'd still never remember all that... well, except for Gudgeon, because he is funny."

Izzy pauses to smirk and Charlie suddenly finds himself completely enamored with her, her kindness, and intelligence, and dry wit. "What we have to do," The girl goes on, not noticing how the young man across from her blushes and stares, "Is make History of Magic relatable to you, as well as easier to remember."

"Ok," Charlie agrees, hardly aware of the words coming out of his mouth. He shouldn't think Izzy is this adorable. He can't ever have her and he's only torturing himself by doing so.

"Excellent," His tutor goes on, smiling at him before instructing, "Close your eyes." The boy makes a strange face, prompting Izzy to soothe, "Trust me. I think this will work." With a shrug, Charlie complies.

"Alright," He hears, the voice soft and sweet, sultry without meaning to be, giving him goosebumps all up and down his thick freckled arms, "I want you to picture Hogsmeade. Picture yourself walking down the main street of Hogsmeade. There's snow on the ground. You pass the Three Broomsticks, and Honeyduke's, and Zonko's. When you reach Gladrags, you turn right down the dirt road. Can you see it?"

"Yes," Charlie responds, finding that it isn't at all hard to picture what Izzy is saying. He's finding that it's a lot harder to keep himself from blushing too furiously just from the sound of her voice as the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up.

"Good," The girl answers, a smile in her tone, "You keep walking until you reach the Hog's Head and you enter. Inside you see goblins and quidditch players-"

Unable to help himself, Charlie suddenly bursts out laughing. His guffaws are met with an indignant, still slightly giggly, "Pay attention, Charlie. Now, you see goblins and quidditch players, and they're all talking and yelling and just being very loud. The quidditch players are eating big red juicy apples. There are six of them, and they're very excited. They're forming a team, drawing arrows on their jerseys as they make plays on a chalkboard in the corner. Who are they and what are they doing?"

"The Appleby Arrows," Charlie answers flatly, almost surprised that he managed to put together the right answer, "They're getting ready to sign up for the International Quidditch League."

"Very good," Izzy states, continuing, "Now, the goblins aren't so happy. They're upset over the way they've been treated by the English Ministry. One with long, braided hair growing out of his ears shouts, '_It's completely unfair that we're forced to work in that bank for so little pay! We have rights! We should demand higher pay!_"

Despite the fact that Charlie snickers at the deep, gruff voice she uses, the girl continues, "Another goblin, one with a huge wart on the huge wart on his nose, says, '_Not just higher pay! We should demand to be put in charge of the bank! After all, we're much better at it than any human ever could be! It's an insult that every human is higher ranking than us when we do all the hard work!_' The crowd agrees heatedly, and pretty soon they're all chanting for a fight. What's going on?"

After a brief moment of thought, Charlie answers, "The Goblin Rebellion." Sound absolutely proud, Izzy says, "Yes. Now, look back at the chalkboard. The quidditch players have written numbers there, the numbers one, six, one, and two. Can you see them?"

"Yes," The boy answers, "The Goblin Rebellion and the forming of the Appleby Arrows both took place in 1612. Wow. That's not so hard."

"See," He hears, opening his eyes to a gorgeous smile that literally takes his breath away. "I knew you could do it," Izzy beams, so glad she's been able to help the stocky boy seated across the table from her, "What reasons did the goblins have for rebelling?"

"They, uh..." Charlie gapes, rather disturbed by the way his heart is pounding. It's not fair that she can do this to him with just a proud look, it's not fair that just the memory of her making him laugh with the funny descriptions and voices is enough to have him sure he'll never forget the reasons the goblins rebelled in 1612, "They were being treated unfairly by the Ministry, being forced by law to work in the bank under human supervision. They wanted higher pay and to be in charge of the bank."

"And what was the year again?" Izzy presses, a huge smile on her face.

It's not fair that he can't have her.

"Sixteen-twelve," Charlie breathes, amazed he remembered but by far too distracted to dwell on it. He's fascinated by and drawn to the petite brunette he once hated, who once hated him.

"And you said you were bad with numbers," She teases, blushing under his heated gaze as she goes back to flipping through the History of Magic textbook, "All you need is a story and a picture behind your facts. If you can see and experience them, they become real, much more real than just dry pieces of trivia you're trying to drill into your brain. You'll remember them just as well as you remember watching Galvin Gudgeon fall off his broom with your little brother. Understand?"

At a blank nod from Charlie, Izzy continues, "Great. Now let's get to work making stories for the rest of the dates you need to remember..."

xxXxx

Izzy wouldn't let him walk her back to Gryffindor Tower, so, on his own journey back, Charlie has plenty of time to let himself get lost in thoughts of the beautiful brunette.

She said she had somewhere to be, and he'd teased her about wandering after curfew, about how, as a prefect, he should give her a detention for even thinking of doing such a thing.

The little witch teased him right back, her full lips twisting into a smirk that made his heart actually flutter in a rather unmanly fashion as she smugly announced that he wouldn't dare, that he didn't have the _guts_.

Well.

Stunned by her... _audacity_, Charlie hadn't been able to respond in time for her to hear. She was already gone around the next corner when he'd finally blurted the wittiest comeback he could think of:

_"Wanna bet?"_

"Stupid..." He grumbles to himself, blushing and slightly glad she didn't hear him. It's bad enough that he's developing a huge crush on an absolutely unattainable girl; he doesn't need to go and make himself look like any more of an idiot in her presence.

Sighing deeply, he tries not to think of Izzy herself as he goes over all the dates she taught him. It's almost impossible though. Most of the reason he remembers all the facts is because of the way Izzy told them, not like she was teaching but like she was making up funny stories to entertain a bored friend.

He really likes the idea of being her friend. Even if he'll never have her like he wants, it's something.

_"Sixteen-twelve, the Goblin Rebellion starts in the Hog's Head..."_ The stocky seeker recites, still amazed that he can remember, _"Sixteen-seventy-four, the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy goes into effect making it every nation's Ministry's responsibility to keep magic secret from muggles in their country... seventeen-oh-nine, the Warlock's Convention outlaws commercial dragon breeding..."_

Suddenly, Charlie turns a corner and nearly gets mowed down by a pair of redheaded blurs. "Oof!" He grunts, steadying himself as he grabs blindly at the giggling boys. Seeker's instincts give him an upper hand, and he very soon finds himself holding Fred and George Weasley off the ground by the scruffs of their necks.

"Oy," He scolds, trying to be stern but secretly rather amused by the way they swing back and forth as they attempt to squirm their way free, "What did I tell you two?"

"Um..." One of his little brothers--he's never sure which is which--hums thoughtfully, "You told us not to let you catch us breaking curfew again-"

"-or else you'd have to give us detentions," The other twin finishes. Both boys stare up at him with huge blues eyes and young, impish grins as he pleads, "But you wouldn't _really_ do that to us, would you, Char?"

"Not our favoritest brother."

"Our idol."

"Our hero."

"The amazing specimen of manliness we both aspire to be."

"Hey," Charlie chuckles, trying not to be flattered because he knows that they don't really mean it, that they're just out to save their own hides, "Quit it. I'm serious. I'm a prefect, and you two are out past curfew. I let you off the first time and I shouldn't have. I'm going to have to give you detentions."

"But that's not fair!" The twin he's got in his right hand pouts, "We didn't mean to be out!"

"Ya!" The other contributes, "That's why we were running! Filch had us for a detention and he held us late!"

"Then he wouldn't give us a pass!" The first twin announces sulkily, "He just laughed and told us to hurry! He was _trying_ to get us caught!"

"Well," Charlie supplies, "He's a mean old man. That doesn't make you two any less guilty... hey, what's that you got there?"

Noticing a scrap of parchment one of the twins--he thinks probably George--is trying to hide behind his back. "Nothing," The boy lies effortlessly, proving once again to not be fast enough to escape his older brother.

Lightning quick, Charlie drops probably-George and snaps the scroll out of his hand before the first year even hits the ground. Scowling and rubbing his backside, probably-George cries, "Hey! That's ours!"

"Can it, shrimp," Charlie laughs, holding the boy back with a foot on his small freckled forehead when he lunges forward. Effortlessly restraining both of the twins, Charlie is free to inspect the parchment in his hands, discovering that it's blank.

He wrinkles his nose, confused as to why the boys are so defensive over a piece of blank parchment. It's then that he sees words suddenly scrawl across it.

_Mr. Padfoot humbly begs for mercy on behalf of the budding pranksters._

_Mr. Prongs adds his support, prostrating himself at the feet of the compassionate prefect, praying that his fellow seeker will be kind and forgiving._

_Mr. Moony would like to note just how pathetic Mr.s Padfoot and Prongs are, and also urges his fellow prefect not to fall victim to their blatant attempts at flattery._

_Mr. Padfoot believes Mr. Moony should see to the stick up his tight prefect arse._

_Mr. Wormtail emphatically concurs._

"Uh..." Charlie gapes, rather unsure of what the hell he's looking at, "Ok... that's... interesting..." His attention shifts abruptly back to the two troublemakers in his custody when probably-Fred starts whining about being choked by the collar his older brother is still holding him off the ground by. Setting the boy back on his feet, he gives the odd parchment to probably-George and announces "I'll take ten points a piece, though that's really not fair to the rest of Gryffindor. You're just lucky Izzy and Percy earn us so damn many. Don't let me catch you again or I'll just owl mum."

The twins share knowing smirks, probably-Fred chiming, "We promise." Probably-George adds, "We won't let you catch us."

Shaking his head, Charlie shoves the pair of them in front of himself, ordering, "Alright, back to the Tower then."

Huffing grumpily, the twins fall perfectly into step, whispering back and forth as they get marched to bed. Charlie is only half listening, but, after a few minutes, finally catches, "...would've thought Cooper'd be the one to give us trouble, not Charlie..." "...why would she give us trouble? She was wandering the dungeons in the middle of the night, too..."

"Wait," Charlie states, making both twins turn to look at him like they've been caught with their hands in a cookie jar. Fixing them with a strict stare, he asks, "What was that about Izzy being in the dungeons?"

When the twins share one of those _looks_ of theirs, he snaps, "The truth, or I'll change my mind about that incredibly light punishment I let you two off with."

Both boys pout at him as probably-Fred grudgingly reports, "We just ran into her there, is all. She's really nice."

"Ya," Probably-George contributes, proudly puffing out his little chest, "And she said we were cute. Don't go getting her in trouble."

"I wouldn't..." Charlie states, unable to keep himself from smirking over the knowledge that Izzy was right: he doesn't have the guts to give her detention, "I was just curious... can I trust you two to get back to the Tower on your own?"

"Sure," The boys state together, probably-Fred narrowing his eyes as he accuses, "But you said you wouldn't get her into trouble."

"I'm not," Charlie responds trying not to blush or look guilty because, really, showing weakness in front of the twins is just _not_ a good idea, "I'm just... uh..."

He's too late. They catch on in an instant, their faces erupting into Christmas-came-early grins. Oh Merlin. He is _never_ going to hear the end of this...

"Sure, Char," Probably-George teases, elbowing probably-Fred, "Whatever you say." Giggling a little too hysterically, probably-Fred remarks, "We'll just be going now. Have fun with your late-night stalking."

"I'm not stalking her!" Charlie shouts at their retreating forms, growing red in the face as they disappear still laughing. Pouting to himself, the redhead turns around and heads for the dungeons, softly insisting, "I'm not!"

xxXxx

"Come on, Roman. In or out?" Izzy Cooper yawns lazily as she hides four eights and an ace of hearts against her chest.

The Slytherin glares across the table at her, blue eyes narrowed and brown hair disheveled. Cooper's already taken him for nearly everything he's got. The other members of their poker game, fellow Slytherins Cale Eyret, Lorenzo Tao, and Aleksei Mikhailov, are snickering at him as they laze back in cozy leather armchairs and watch the show. But he's sure he can beat her this time. He's got a full house. And Izzy's probably bluffing again... like she was in the last hand... Merlin, he looked like such an idiot when she turned over that pair of fives...

"In," The young man states, throwing more galleons into the rather large pot, "Call."

Completely unworried, because she knows Nero has a full house, because she can count cards (another slightly shady skill Jordy imparted upon her), Izzy lays down her four of a kind. "Sorry," She coos, smiling weakly as she moves her winnings into the large pile of cash already in front of her, "I guess I win."

Nero's mouth hits the floor when he sees that Izzy has beaten him yet again. The other guys are laughing uproariously and he can hardly see straight he's so mad. But... he also can't get over how fucking hot she's making him. No girl has _ever_ beaten him before. No girl has _ever_ made him look like such a fool, made him the source of such ridicule. No girl has _ever_ turned him down.

He's _never_ wanted a girl like he wants Izzy Cooper.

He used to date Geneva Beckett, a fellow pure-blooded Slytherin. She was beautiful and soft and willing, a right bitch when she wanted to be but rather passive around him. She wanted her hooks in him for marriage.

He dumped her last year, and now here's Izzy Cooper, a mudblood Gryffindor, smiling that tired smile across the table at him as she rakes away his money, seeming to both tease and apologize at the same time with those big brown eyes, and he can't not want her...

And he's sure the firewhiskey he's been consuming all night has absolutely nothing to do with it...

"Good game, boys," The little Gryffindor yawns, pushing the mountain of coins into her small satchel, "But I think I'm calling it a night."

"Aw, are you sure?" Aleksei Mikhailov, a burly, dark-haired Russian who transferred in fifth year, grumbles in a thick, good-natured accent, "I haf so much more fun at poker night ven Roman is not vinning... he is bragging for many days after."

"Exactly," Lorenzo Tao supplies with a wide, charming grin and flirtatious wink. He's short and skinny, half-Italian, half-Chinese, with almond hazel eyes and chaotically spiked black hair. "Stay a few more. Please?" The boy begs loudly, his large personality more than making up for his demure stature as he bounces in his seat, "We can't get enough of watching head boob... I mean head _boy_ get his arse kicked."

"You did say you'd teach us that new game," Cale supplies, smiling happily beside his girl. It doesn't matter that she kicked his arse, too. He's proud of her, and really likes that she gets along with his housemates. He knows not many in Hogwarts bother to cross house lines, especially the green, serpent-infested ones. "Texas Hold 'Em?" The tall blonde says, brushing back a few stray hairs that have fallen out of his short ponytail.

"Next week, boys," Izzy says, yawning and getting to her feet. She's _so tired._ She probably should've just walked back to the Tower with Charlie, but she would've felt guilty if she missed poker night. "I promise," The girl adds, smiling brightly even though the way Nero is looking at her is a little disturbing, "I really do have to get to bed."

"Alright, Bel," Cale concedes, getting to his feet and handing Izzy a few books she left lying on the floor, "I'll walk you back."

"Don't be silly," She answers, trying not to flinch and shrink away as she takes her books from her friend. Despite best efforts, she's still a little wary around him after the incident in the hospital wing. She doesn't like that he was touching her without permission, that he didn't see anything wrong with violating her trust like that. "I'm fine on my own," The petite brunettes soothes, throwing a handful of wild curls over one slim shoulder, "The Weasley twins showed me a shortcut when I ran into them earlier. They're such cute little things."

Cale pouts--she's never called _him_ cute--but nonetheless agrees, "If you're sure. Goodnight then."

"Goodnight," She calls, waving to the other three Slytherins as she hurries out of Nero's richly-decorated head boy suite. The common room is deserted, and Izzy is glad. Some of the other Slytherins are not as... accepting as Cale, Nero, Lorenzo, and Aleksei. She can count her good friend Margo Amos in the non-psycho Slytherin category as well, but doesn't know of any others. In a house of at least fifty, those odds aren't so great for a petite muggleborn Gryffindor who happens to wander into their midst.

She walks through the deserted hallways, her rhythmic footsteps echoing off the cold, worn stones as she follows the familiar twists and turns. Soon, she comes to the hallways just outside of one of Snape's lesser-used supply cupboards and, just as Fred and George told her, on the bottom of the opposite wall rests a brick with a deep triangle-shaped chipped missing from it. She kicks the stone three times in quick succession, and the whole wall silently opens up to reveal a carpeted, dimly-lit passageway.

The girl smiles, because it even boasts a small plate of wrapped chocolates and a little note with a childish scribble of _Free Samples, F & G_. Rather touched that the twins apparently came back to light the torches, as well as leave her chocolate, she takes one of the small candies and hums softly to herself as she walks into the secret hallway that will take her straight back to Gryffindor Tower.

Just after finishing her treat, the brunette gets a horrible chill all down her spine, suddenly feeling like she's not alone. Gathering all the courage in her small body, she lets her hand casually fall onto the wand just barely poking out of her bag and then turns around.

"Oh," She breathes, shoulders visibly relaxing--though not quite all the way--when she gets a look at the person standing just a few paces in front of her. "It's just you," She states, unconsciously backing away as she admonishes, "What are you doing here?"

xxXxx

When Charlie watches Izzy walk out of the Slytherin common room, her full satchel jingling with the sounds of money, he has to admit that he's rather impressed. It's a well-known fact that the head boy, Nero Roman, holds exclusive weekly poker games in his suite. It's also a well-known fact that he always wipes the floor with whoever he sees fit to invite.

Izzy's taken the stuck-up git of a head boy for a ride, and he loves her for it.

He's so caught up in his silent admiration of the girl that he forgets to actually follow her, and is surprised when he sees Nero Roman silently exiting the common room just a few moments behind Izzy. Frowning as he takes in the tall brunette's stumbling and angry muttering, Charlie starts thinking that maybe Roman really is as sore a loser as everyone says he is. Keeping his distance, the redhead decides to follow, just to be on the safe side.

So Izzy walks unaware and confident through the maze of dungeon corridors while Nero stalks her and Charlie keeps an eye on both. When she stops to open a passageway, Charlie can't help the grin that comes across his face. Fred and George really must like her if they let her in on some of the secrets they've been amassing about Hogwarts castle.

The grin is gone, however, when Nero slips in behind her, when the wall closes itself before Charlie can sprint in himself. Frantically, he mimics the three swift kicks he saw Izzy make against the wall, but it takes him a few moments to find the right stone. When he sees that it has a marking on it, he feels rather stupid, but rushes into the dim passage all the same. The plate of samples and one empty candy wrapper makes his stomach lurch. There's no way Izzy would know what a bad idea it is to take anything edible from the twins. He runs just a little bit faster.

"What are you doing here?" Her small voice demands, sounding just the slightest bit fearful as the girl backs away from Nero. Charlie hides himself in the shadows, close enough so that he can interfere if necessary but far enough away to remain unnoticed. He knows that it is a little creepy that he followed her and waited in the dungeons, and doesn't want to scare the girl.

"Wanna play some more cards with you," Nero slurs silkily, advancing on the petite Gryffindor, "Thought you might reconsider those _private lessons_." He still sounds vaguely upset and annoyed, but his voice is filled with something else, something equally powerful. Lust, Charlie decides, tightening his fists and forcing himself to remain hidden for the time being.

"Some other time, Nero," Izzy placates, taking another step backwards as her fingers twitch around the handle of her wand, "I really have to get back to the Tower. Why don't you and the other guys catch up with me at breakfast tomorrow. Maybe we can set a date for me to teach all of you-"

"NO!" Nero shouts, stomping his foot and looking like the spoiled toddler he still is at heart, "Not them! Just me! ARG! I'm trying to seduce you here!! What is wrong with you?"

Instantly, Charlie can see the change in Izzy's expression, her features shifting from fearful to annoyed as the girl hotly insists, "There is _nothing_ wrong with me, Nero Roman! Just because I don't swoon at your feet like the mindless slags you usually subject to this sort of half-arsed seduction doesn't mean you have license to make me feel abnormal!!"

_"You tell him, Izzy!"_ Charlie mentally cheers, unable to keep himself from smirking at the absolutely floored look on Nero's face. "You do not get to make me feel bad about myself for this!" She berates, actually waggling a scolding finger up at him, "I already told you once that I am not interested in you that way, and I don't appreciate you not respecting my decision!"

"But-" Nero argues, only to be cut off once more as Izzy rages louder and steps closer. The girl is right in his face as she yells, "I would like to think that if you were even halfway serious about this instead of just instantly smitten by the first female brain you've bothered with in nearly seven years, you would at least have the courtesy to not hit on me while you are under the influence of more booze than I could keep track of and an unprecedented slap of defeat to your monstrous ego!"

"Hey!" The head boy cries, frowning petulantly because he thinks the petite Gryffindor just insulted him but can't be sure. She used too many big damn words... and was spinning... and since when were there two of her?

"And another thing!" Izzy continues, amber eyes flashing bright in the torch light, "I don't like you following and ambushing me! If you want to talk, you are welcome to request a meeting, not hide about in the shadows until I'm all alone and then pounce! It's creepy and not at all polite!"

Charlie suddenly feels quite guilty and thoroughly chastised by the scolding that wasn't actually meant for him.

"You're not even going to give me a chance, are you?" Nero mumbles, already sulking. With a deep sigh, Izzy curtly answers, "Even if I was interested in dating _anyone_, I don't believe you really want me. Like I said before, you don't talk to nearly enough _smart_ girls. You're a smart boy and that's what you need, but just because I can beat you at cards and hold an intelligent conversation doesn't mean I'm right for you."

The smirk that crosses the handsome Slytherin's features gives Charlie a sick feeling in his stomach. "But how will I ever know," Nero demands, as smooth as he can be while still stumbling and slurring his words. He takes a step closer to Izzy, trapping her between his broad chest and the wooden support beam behind her back as he finishes, "If we don't try?"

"Nero," Izzy warns, all her fire and confidence waning now that the young man has entered her comfort zone, now that she realizes she's trapped and he's much bigger than she is. "Nero, _no_," The girl demands, her voice shaking as her breathing comes in desperate heaves and pants.

"Just one kiss," The taller brunette pleads, leaning in close enough for Izzy to smell the sickly stink of firewhiskey on his breath, "Come on. Quit being such a _tease_."

_"Tease," Uncle Richie hisses, large hands already ripping the frilly pink church dress off of Isabel's frail little body._

_"Saw you watching me," The blonde man snarls, pinning the whimpering girl down onto her bed, "All through the service, right there in front of God! You were tempting me with those big eyes, just begging for it!"_

_She wants to tell him no, that she didn't do any such thing, but there isn't any space for the words to come out between desperate, choking sobs as the girl struggles to get free._

_"Should've pulled down your pretty little panties right there!" Uncle Richie shouts, punctuating the statement by tearing the white cotton underwear off her trembling body. He slaps her butt, hard, making her scream and cry as a bruise already starts to bloom on the pale flesh. He forces her face into the bedspread to muffle her whimpers of anguish and pain. The child is breathing in mouthfuls of cotton and her head spins as she starves for oxygen._

_"Gonna teach you a lesson," He growls, keeping her pinned as the sound of a zipper rasping through the silence of the cold room makes little Izzy sick and scared, "Girls who tease always get what's coming to them..."_

Her eyes are glazed, Charlie notices, wide and frozen as Nero leans in closer and closer. Only a moment before the stocky redhead is going to jump out and save Izzy, play the hero, she suddenly shrieks, "I AM NOT A TEASE!!"

None of the three teens present expected Izzy haul off and punch Nero right in the jaw, but that's exactly what she does. Her fist connects with Nero's face and the large Slytherin grunts loudly, stumbles backwards, and trips over an uneven spot in the carpet before he falls. His back hits the floor with a sickening thump and, from the way he's clutching his jaw and groaning in pain, Charlie thinks that either the head boy is the biggest wimp at Hogwarts or Izzy learned how to punch harder since she hit him all those years ago.

He hopes for a little of both.

"Oooooowwww!" Nero moans, wide-eyed and staring at Izzy like she just sprouted a few extra heads, "You- you punched me!"

"Yes, I did," The girl responds, her voice shaking slightly as she slowly lowers her fist. The look on her face is one of utter shock tinged slightly with guilt, however, she still scolds, "No means no, Nero. Hopefully, you understand that now."

And then Nero is angry again, shoving himself off the floor to his full, towering height and raging, "You stupid little Gryffindor bitch! Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Nero Roman, head boy," Izzy responds flatly, almost mockingly, hands on her slim hips as she gazes unflinchingly back into his dark face, "And you're not the first head of Hogwarts I've ever punched, so don't think you're special or that you can scare me on that account. You have behaved like a child and a pig tonight, and now I think you need to get straight back to your room, sober up, and think about what you've done. In the morning, if you'd like to apologize, you may talk to me at breakfast. Otherwise, I don't think I'd like to be your friend anymore."

Nero's anger melts and he suddenly looks and feels like he's three-years-old, being reprimanded for tracking mud on his mother's expensive rug. He looks and feels very small, and it doesn't take long for Izzy's icy stare to have him gaping silently as he searches for words to apologize right then and there.

The petite brunette before him taps her foot impatiently, dark curls bouncing as she waves him away with a dismissive flick of a wrist and patronizing command of, "Go on! Shoo!" In a daze, Nero turns and walks back down the corridor. He passes the shadow where the stocky redhead is hidden without so much as a backwards glance. _"The girl's got guts..."_ Charlie muses, extremely impressed and muffling silent laughter in his hand.

But as soon as Nero is gone around the corner, Izzy's whole body starts to tremble uncontrollably, the girl close to tears as she hugs herself and tries to keep back the panic, and fear, and self-revulsion pouring over her in crippling waves. Charlie watches, silent, as her strong front crumbles and she begins to sob, as she sinks to her knees and just keeps shaking there in the middle of the floor.

He wants nothing more than to run to her, to gather her up into his arms and make it all better, to make up for the way the cruel world keeps her from feeling safe and happy.

But he can't.

He knows he can't; it's not his place and he hasn't earned the right to do that for her. Not yet. He has to keep his distance and watch helplessly as the small, broken little girl cries so hard that her nose starts to bleed... ok, so maybe that's the twins' chocolate finally kicking in. Charlie decides to throttle the both of them later.

He just hates seeing Izzy cry; it's still the worst feeling in the world.

Still trembling with choked sobs, the girl raises a hand away from her face, her eyes going wide when she see that it's drenched in blood. Helplessly, she peers around her in search of someone, anyone. She's so confused and frightened, dripping blood onto her clean white blouse, whimpering, "Oh... what... help..."

Charlie forgets all about remaining hidden because she asked for help and he's vowed to always be there when she needs him. He owes her that much and more.

"Izzy," He calls, only startling her a little when he comes bounding out of the shadow like an overexcited puppy, "Hey. What happened?"

The girl looks up at him over her blood soaked hands as she tries desperately to stem the blood flowing from her nose. "Charlie?" She sobs, her voice gurgling from more blood dripping down the back of her throat, her eyes blurry from tears. The boy appeared like some sort of guardian angel just as she whispered for help, and, though she should find that strange, she's just very glad to not be alone. "What are you doing here?" She chokes, still trying to hold back the gush of blood from her nose.

"I ran into the twins," The stocky redhead states, kneeling down at Izzy's side, digging a handkerchief out of his book bag and offering it to her, "They told me they saw you in the dungeons, so I came down to make sure you weren't causing any trouble." He flashes a crooked smile, trying to put her at ease. It doesn't work.

"I'm bleeding," The girl hiccups, still terrified, "I-I don't know why! I didn't do anything! What's wrong with me?"

"Um," Charlie mutters, watching as Izzy carefully raises his handkerchief to the stream of red coming down her pretty face, "You didn't happen to eat one of those chocolates at the beginning of the passageway, did you?" Her wide doe eyes going impossibly wider, she nods. Chuckling dryly, Charlie states, "Fred and George really like... well, _experimenting_. I'm sure whatever they've given you is harmless, but why don't you let me help you back to the Tower and I promise to yank them out of their beds for an explanation... and an apology."

Sniffling, the girl nods again, carefully pulling herself back up to her feet and shying away from the steadying hand he holds out to catch her when she stumbles. In fact, she even glares slightly. Charlie isn't sure whether to laugh or cower.

The pair slowly make their way up the long hallway and before long are stepping out from behind a tapestry just a few feet from the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. "Oh, heavens!" The Fat Lady squeals tiredly as they wake her from a wine-induced slumber. Her gaze flits from Izzy's bloody face to Charlie's concerned one and she demands, "Whatever happened, dear?" Lowering her voice, she glares at Charlie and whispers conspiratorially, "Was it this brute again? Tell me, dear, and I can have the headmaster here in mere minutes!"

"No, no," The girl soothes, her voice still nasally, gurgling as she continues to bleed down the back of her throat, "He didn't do anything at all. It's potion damage... or, at least I hope it is. I'll be fine as soon as I talk to the twins."

Snorting, the Fat Lady responds, "Those boys, then. I had a feeling it had something to do with a Weasley or two. Trouble always seems to follow them..." Charlie glares, curtly stating the Valentine's day themed password: "_Amore vero._"

The portrait swings open and Charlie gestures for Izzy to go on in ahead of him. Sending the redhead a suspicious glance, she does just that, carefully moving inside the common room and arranging herself on a sofa by the fire. She's trying very hard not to bleed on anything, but that is nearly impossible. All of the young girl is drenched in hot red, more gushing from her nose like a geyser.

"Here," Charlie offers, holding out a towel he's plucked out of Oliver Wood's quidditch bag--he might feel bad about taking it if he hadn't already told young Ollie a hundred times not to leave his gear in the common room. "Sorry, it's sweaty," The stocky Gryffindor apologizes, blushing slightly, "But it'll do while I go get the twins. Are you alright for a few seconds?"

"Yes," Izzy grumbles nasally, tired and cranky over how her whole night has been going, "I have a bloody nose. I'm not brain damaged." Blushing even darker, Charlie responds, "Ya. Right. Sorry." The boy then takes off up the stairs, quick to get away lest he make anymore stupid comments.

He finds the twins asleep in their beds, identical crooked sprawls threatening to send both spilling onto the floor. Charlie kicks them and they end up there with a pair of perfectly matched THUMP_GROAN_s Not bothering to give them time to collect themselves, the stocky redhead grabs his little brothers by the collars of their plain t-shirts and carries them back to the common room.

"Fix it!" Charlie orders gruffly, thrusting the boys at Izzy, who is seated on one of the squashy red sofas and still bleeding quite profusely. The twins rub small fists into their clear blue eyes, not entirely awake and just a bit confused as to what the hell is going on. Fred figures it out first, smirking lightly as he yawns, "Hey, they worked!"

"Really?" George chirps, excitedly opening his eyes to find Izzy bleeding profusely from her nose. "Wicked," He happily mutters, trying to keep his voice down as he comments, "But there's too much gushing. I think less powdered erumpent horn next time."

"Use the tails," Izzy automatically instructs, tilting her head back slightly as her nasally voice gurgles behind the towel. The twins blink at her, startled that she offered them help, so much so that they aren't even thinking of asking for more.

The girl rolls her eyes, explaining, "I assume that if whatever you've given me had erumpent horns in it, your aim was to simply cause the capillaries in the sinuses to explode. The horns are too strong, which caused too many to do so, which caused an extreme, rather unrealistic spectacle. The tails have the same properties but aren't as concentrated, so they should do the trick in keeping the reaction believable and preventing an unnecessary amount of blood loss."

After a stunned silence, the twins echo together, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Izzy returns, politely accepting another rag from Charlie as the one she has becomes completely soaked, "Now if you don't give me the antidote right this second, then I'm going to see to it that neither of you is allowed to concoct so much as a cup of cocoa during the remainder of your Hogwarts careers!"

Eyes going wide, the two boys nod and bolt for the staircase, one of them shouting a promise of, "We'll be right down!"

"Troublemakers," Charlie comments gruffly. Izzy laughs, waving him off as she states, "All in good fun. And I'm actually quite impressed. First years shouldn't be able to brew a potion like the one they did without causing me to bleed to death."

"What?" The stocky redhead yelps, caught somewhere between panic and fury. Again, Izzy laughs, trying to keep her amber curls from getting bloody as she says, "Erumpents are well-known for their unique defense mechanism: a highly volatile fluid they secrete and squirt from a gland on their faces. It causes whatever it contacts to explode. The horns and tails contain residual amounts of the chemicals. Most often, they're seen as ingredients in explosives and fireworks because, if ingested without a proper inhibitor and targeter, they cause ruptures of the intestinal and circulatory systems."

"Little bastards!" Charlie cries, his freckles becoming more and more stark as he continues to pale, "I can't believe they would give you something like that! Are you alright? Are you sure you're not going to explode? Do you need to go to the nurse?"

"Relax, Charlie," The petite brunette soothes, motioning for him to hand her another clean towel, "If I was going to explode, I would have already. Like I said, it's highly impressive that they did as well as they did."

The boy scowls, still upset over the very idea of the very possibility that his little brothers might've blown Izzy up. He resolves to have a very serious talk with them later, and is anticipating the appearance of thumbscrews...

"Here you go!" Fred proudly cries, he and his brother leaping over the back of the couch and sweeping into low bows as they present Izzy with a bright blue vial. Izzy takes it cautiously, inspecting the color and viscosity as she questions, "Clotting and mending agents?"

"Yes," George answers, fidgeting with a frayed end of his t-shirt, "It's a modified version of the Shrinking Solution targeted to your nose in order to close the broken blood vessels and stem the blood flow, with concentrated Murtlap to heal the damage and a blood replenisher to keep your blood volume normal."

Izzy smiles and downs the rather foul tasting liquid, breaking into a fit of coughs but gleefully noting that the bleeding stops almost instantly. "Good boys," She states fondly, "That was an impressive show, but you really shouldn't use these inventions of yours on unwilling subjects while they're still in experimental phases. It's dangerous and I really must insist that you test in a controlled setting with _informed_ subjects when you once again become overwhelmed by your curiosity."

"Ok," The twins agree, nodding resolutely. Izzy smiles at them once more, recommending, "Talk to Snape about your modified Shrinking Solution. I don't believe anyone's ever thought to apply that particular potion as a vasoconstrictor, and, if you can develop it further, it may be a substantial medical breakthrough."

The two boys grin proudly, once more chirping, "Ok!" Charlie shakes his head at the lot of them. He really couldn't follow all that smart potion-speak, but he did get the general idea: Izzy isn't mad about being tested on so much as disappointed that the twins failed to follow proper experimental procedure. Hell, she thought they were brilliant, that they'd just made a medical breakthrough. The idea of his two troublemaking little brothers making a breakthrough in anything but ways to get out of detention spins his head.

"Off to bed then," Izzy orders, shooing the first-years away with a flick of her wrist, "You're growing boys and really shouldn't be up at this hour."

"Ya," Charlie lamely agrees, "What she said." All three of the potions geniuses giggle at him as Fred and George happily skip back up the stairs. Izzy hands him the last bloody towel, the whole front of her body still stained red even as she smiles sweetly and states, "Thanks for the help, but I think I need to wash up now. Don't forget, you're coming to see me in the library after your quidditch practice tomorrow."

"Uh huh," He responds, struck dumb, blushing and unable to move as he watches the brave, beautiful, strong girl slowly make her way up the stairs.

xxXxx

She's clean now, but exhausted, lying in her bed and staring up at the canopy. Izzy is afraid to sleep because she knows that as soon as she closes her eyes, the nightmares will come back.

They always come back.

She tries not to cry as she prays for something, _anything_ fierce enough to keep them at bay.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And there it is folks! The last you'll be getting for about a week or so. I'm celebrating the start of my summer vacation with a little trip with a bunch of friends. When I get back, it'll be straight to writing. In the mean time, coming home to lots of reviews would be super and definitely inspire me ;)


	13. Part 13: Ham Bone

Part 13 - Ham Bone

"I'm sorry."

Izzy can tell with fair certainty that Nero Roman has very little experience in apologizing to anyone. A spoiled little rich boy like him... well, she wouldn't put it past the tall brunette to have never had to apologize even once in his entire over-privileged life.

That fact makes his meager effort all the more touching. Sure, Izzy told the boy that if he wanted to remain her friend he would need to apologize for his priggish behavior once he sobered up, but she didn't entirely expect him to actually do so. She thought Nero Roman was far too proud.

But here he is, all sad, downcast blue eyes and slumped shoulders and hanging head, really looking ashamed and regretful. The girl smiles a brilliant smile; there might be some hope for this Slytherin after all.

"Apology accepted," Izzy answers sweetly, gracing Nero with her lovely grin as they walk side-by-side into the Great Hall. She knows it's taking a lot for him to ask forgiveness, to willingly be seen talking to a muggle-born Gryffindor by the entire school, and she thinks that it shows wonderful growth in the usually snobbish and self-centered young man.

He nervously rubs the back of his neck, smirking slightly as he asks, "Just like that? Really? I expected to be jumping through a few more hoops."

Izzy knows that he's truly sorry, that no amount of hoop jumping will heal her nightmares; they're not really his fault anyways so why should he be punished? With a laugh like rainwater, the girl jokes seriously, "Well, I suppose if you want a hoop, I can think of one." After Nero gives an apprehensive nod of submission, she announces, "Ask Trinh Tien to Hogsmeade."

He pulls a face, trying not to sneer as he questions, "The Hufflepuff with the green hair? Why?"

"I told you," Izzy answers, taking a seat at the front end of the Gryffindor table, barely batting an eye when Nero takes a seat across from her, "You need to date some _smart_ girls, and Trinh happens to be one of the smartest ones I know... besides, she's less likely to be scared off by your... aggressive dating strategies since she seems to have quite a few of her own."

Nero gives a slightly uncomfortable laugh, joking, "I like her already... but, seriously, I don't even know her. I'm just supposed to go up and ask out of the blue?"

With a laugh of her own, Izzy grabs some dry toast to eat as she teases, "You requested a hoop. It's not meant to be _easy_, but if you think you can't handle it..."

The young man's gaze narrows at the challenge, chest swelling as he get right up and stalks over to the Hufflepuff table. Izzy watches with mild amusement and fascination as he takes a seat next to Trinh and begins flirting shamelessly, as her bright friend flirts right back. She smiles; she knew they'd be perfect for each other.

Two flashes of red in the corner of her eyes grab her attention away from the couple. Izzy glances quickly to both sides of herself and grins fondly at the identical freckled faces of Fred and George Weasley.

"Morning!" They chirp together, smiles broad and brilliant, chaotic ginger hair falling into crinkled, clear blue eyes.

"Good morning, boys," Izzy laughs warmly, directing her smile to each in turn, "You're looking rather chipper today. Off to cause more trouble, I'll bet?"

The first-year twins match each other with perfectly acted looks of mock scandal. "Who, us?" The one on the right gasps, leaving his brother on the left to echo, "Never!"

The girl laughs lightly, munching on a corner of dry toast. "Of course not," She teases, "Don't know why I would've ever thought such a thing. So what's the real plan for today then? Charity and good works? Public service? Handing out puppies to the underprivileged, perhaps?"

"Well, you know us," The one on the left answers happily, "We're all about the children."

"Indubitably," The one on the right continues importantly, "We want to help the children... because they are our future."

"Mhmm," Izzy hums thoughtfully, smirking at both boys, "And this plan to 'help the children,' it wouldn't happen to include some sort of explosive device, would it?"

The twins gape, blurting out a shocked chorus of, "How'd you know?"

"Dirt under your fingernails," The petite seventh year answers, abandoning her half-finished slice of toast in favor of picking up a thick Potions manual, "Which means you've been sneaking around in the greenhouses again, which means you've been stealing sacks of fertilizer again, which means you've been in need of ammonium nitrate again, which means you've been building some sort of explosive device... again."

Both boys blush hotly but don't look even the least bit guilty. In fact, they're grinning and gazing up at Izzy with expressions of pure adoration. "So... will you look over our calculations?" The twin to the right inquires, his brother producing a stack of crinkled parchment scraps and holding them out with a pleading smile.

"Depends," Izzy counters, taking the proffered papers and flipping through them idly, "Is this going to physically or emotionally scar anyone or get either of you expelled from school?"

The boys emphatically shake their heads.

"I don't see the harm then," She beams, folding down the creased pieces of parchment and filing them neatly into her satchel, "I'll have some time to give them a going over this afternoon and you can come meet with me in the library before dinner to discuss my findings. Is that suitable, gentlemen?"

"Perfectly," Both twins chime, smiles bright with barely contained excitement as they bounce up from their seats, "Thanks, Iz!!" They run away cackling, whispering furiously and making everyone present incredibly nervous.

Shaking her head and laughing, Izzy gets up from the table. She slings her overstuffed book bag over her bony shoulder, hefts a stack of thick texts into her slim arms, and walks towards the door. She has quite a lot of work to do today and needs to get started on it as soon as possible. With only a half hour before her first class, she doesn't have much time.

But she stops briefly just inside the Great Hall, catching sight of Charlie Weasley from across the Gryffindor table. The stocky redheaded seeker is obviously anxious, poking at his breakfast with disinterest as he mutters a list of dates and ingredients and spells to himself. He has a round of exams today which will decide whether or not he is allowed to stay on the quidditch team, as well as if he is allowed to graduate at the end of the year.

Sensing that he's being watched, the young man picks his head up and his eyes fall on Izzy's slight body. He blushes, all nerves, and offers a shy, uncertain grin.

Izzy returns a look that has Charlie relaxed and more nervous all at once, the dazzling, gorgeous smile shining right through her amber eyes and right onto him. "Good luck," She mouths, rearranging her armful of books to give him a delicate little wave as she continues out of the Hall.

xxXxx

"EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS!" Charlie Weasley shouts at the top of his lungs as he comes running out of Professor McGonogall's office. He's still in his quidditch kit, sweaty and muddy, and he scares the daylights out of a group of third year Ravenclaws when he buzzes by them and shrieks disbelievingly, "EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS!!!"

"I take it that means your exams went well?" Lark Nolan, the Gryffindor team's keeper laughs as she bounds up beside her captain. Unlike Charlie, the tall girl went up to the Tower and showered after practice, her pale face freshly washed and her long black hair hanging in a slightly damp curtain down her slim back.

"_EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS!!!_" Charlie squeals again, barely able to contain his broad grin and completely unable to control the volume of his voice as he continues to gallop along down the hallway at full speed, "I-I can't believe it!! I passed!! I passed everything!! I _exceeded __expectations_ in every class but Potions!! And even then, I was _acceptable_!! _ACCEPTABLE_!! I did work that _Snape_ thought was _ACCEPTABLE_!!"

"Congrats, Captain," Lark chirps happily, clapping him on the shoulder, "We all knew you had it in you, and now you can focus on leading us to victory over the Slytherins in a week."

"I-I-..." The young man stutters, still in shock, still running even though his destination has yet to make its transfer into the conscious portion of his mind, "I have to tell Izzy!! I have to thank her!!"

They arrive at the Great Hall. It's packed but it only takes a moment for Charlie to realize that his tutor is not present. His joyous mood comes down to earth a bit.

"Library," Lark informs him, rolling her bottle blue eyes, "Working through dinner _again_, the little sneak. She never used to pull this shite when Myron was here. I've got half a mind to tattle on her..." The girl trails off, glancing over at Charlie's expression of sullen disappointment. A light bulb clicks on in her admittedly dim skull. A knowing smile comes across her face.

She gives the stocky redhead at her side another encouraging clap on the shoulder, stating, "Why don't you bring her some dinner, mate? A girl's got to eat." He hurt Izzy once, but... afterwards, everyone noticed how much he changed, how much effort he put into being a different person. He obviously learned his lesson. All of Izzy's friends are very protective of her, but they've given the seeker a little credit and Lark doesn't see the harm in cutting him some slack. He is trying so hard, after all.

Nodding dumbly, Charlie agrees, "Ya... ya, I will... thanks."

"Not a problem," The tall, willowy keeper sings out as she looks over the assorted dishes of food, "She likes turkey with cranberries and all the fixings and... the cheesecake looks good."

"Nuh uh," Tonks butts in, hair dark purple and face solemn as she leans backwards into the aisle. "Got peppermint in it," She proclaims, nearly spewing her mouthful of turkey onto Charlie's shoes.

"Oh," Lark gasps gravely, very aware that she almost just made a dire mistake, "Oh. Well, then _definitely_ not the cheesecake..."

"She doesn't like peppermint?" Charlie questions blankly.

Shaking her head, Lark states, "Hates the stuff. Can't stand it. I've seen her get ill just smelling it on other people's breath... take the chocolate pudding. That's a safe bet."

Filing away the useful bit of Izzy-trivia, Charlie eagerly states, "Ok." Very quickly, he leans over the table with a plate and piles it high with turkey and cranberries, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing and rolls, and a cup of chocolate pudding on the side. With a mute nods of thanks to both Lark and Tonks, the boy turns and trots out in the direction of the library.

He finds her in the secluded back corner he's learned that she's partial to. She's changed her hair since he saw her that morning, pulled the wild amber curls into a neat braid to keep them away from her eyes. Her tie is loose around her graceful neck. She's bent low over a pile of parchments, speaking quietly with both Fred and George. She has a smile on her pretty face, laughter and mischief and pride purely evident.

For a few seconds, Charlie can't breathe.

He's in a trance, hypnotized by _her_. And she's glowing again, that impenetrable, ethereal glow that reminds him she's... too good. Too good for him.

He shakes himself and walks forward with the plate of food.

"Hey," The young man calls softly, smiling as he stands awkwardly beside the table, "You three aren't planning anything I should know about, are you?"

Izzy smiles up at him, takes his breath away as she wrinkles her lightly freckled nose and giggles, "Just a bit of fun and educational hypothetical theorizing between likeminded individuals... how did your exams go?"

Grinning merrily, he puffs out his chest and answers, "I _exceed expectations_."

"Oh, Charlie!" The girl beams happily, "That's wonderful! I'm so proud of you!"

The boy blushes hotly, more thrilled that the girl is proud than that he's not getting kicked out of school. "I, um," He goes on, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he offers out the plate of food, "I brought you some dinner."

Before she has a chance to answer, tall, burly Cale Eyret comes walking around a corner and into view, shaggy blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck. His expression instantly darkens when he sees Charlie, the Slytherin's hot gaze jumping to the plate of food the Gryffindor is holding and then back to the one in his own hands.

"Hey, Bel," Cale greets suspiciously, standing beside Charlie and trying to stare him down, "Brought you some dinner."

"Oh," Izzy states awkwardly, glancing between the tall blonde and the stocky redhead, both carrying plates of food and looking at each other like wild dogs about to fight to the death over a ham bone, "Well, thank you. Thank you both, but I'm, um, I'm really not hungry."

"We are!!" The twin to Izzy's right, George, she'd discovered, pipes up, leaning across the table to snatch the high-piled plate out of Cale's hands. Fred does the same, taking Charlie's plate and adding, "We'll eat! Thanks, mates! Right thoughtful of you!"

The older boys are stunned for a few moments, speechless and at a loss for what to do as they watch the twins dig in with gusto. After a moment, they simply go back to glaring at each other out of narrowed eyes.

"If you don't mind," Fred announces around a bulging mouthful of turkey, "My twin and I are in the process of conducting some very important business with the lovely lady here-"

"-and we'd appreciate some privacy," George cuts in, shooing the two teenagers away with a dismissive, rather smug wave of his dinner roll, "Top secrety type stuff, this is."

Charlie makes a mental note to pummel both his little brothers later. "But I thought we were supposed to study," He pouts to Izzy, very aware of Cale's hands turning to fists at his sides.

Smiling up at him, Izzy coos, "You've earned a night or two off. We don't have very much homework and it's nothing that can't wait until Sunday."

"I think I might be a bad influence on you, Bel," Cale teases halfheartedly, glaring at Charlie.

The girl returns a look of playful annoyance, scolding, "Oh, hush. You act like all I do is study when you know very well that isn't true."

The blonde gives her a wry smile, still eyeing Charlie as he asks, "Yes, dear. What time am I meeting you tomorrow?"

Blushing, Izzy suddenly becomes very interested in the scraps of parchment on the table as she quietly answers, "Ten o'clock on the front steps will be fine."

"Excellent," Cale beams, sending an extremely haughty smirk at Charlie as he turns to leave, "Can't wait!"

Once he's gone, it only takes a few moments of the twins giving him identical "you're not wanted here" looks for Charlie to begin to squirm. "Well, um," He states, resisting the urge to ask why Izzy was meeting Cale, why she looked so nervous and embarrassed about it, "I'll just... be going then. See you Sunday night?"

"Of course," The girl answers, smiling softly, "See you then. And congratulations again, Charlie. Really. You should be very proud of the progress you've made. I know I am."

His face, neck, ears, hell, his entire upper body flushes to a flaming red. For a few moments, he stutters dumbly, searching for a response as the twins snicker and make kissy faces at him behind Izzy's back. Eventually he settles for a curt grunt of, "Thanks." The young man then turns and flees for all he's worth, so bloody embarrassed he can barely see straight and doesn't notice the bookshelf until _after_ he's barreled right into it.

It wobbles and tilts in slow motion, Charlie's thick arms flying out helplessly in an attempt to keep the heavy stack upright. Not really thinking, he yanks it backwards towards himself, hard, eyes going wide as he realizes too late that doing so was not exactly a good idea.

The last thing he sees before everything goes black is a waterfall of thick, dusty books coming straight for his head.

xxXxx

"CHARLIE!!" Izzy shouts, coughing on the plumes of dust as she and the twins work together to levitate the bookshelf off of the hapless seeker beneath it. "CHARLIE!!" She cries, forgetting to keep her voice down as she goes diving into the pile of books and begins tossing them aside as carefully as she can, "CHARLIE!! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

A pained groan cuts through the room just seconds before Izzy plucks a huge text ironically entitled _Practical Applications of__ Anti-Gravity Charms_ off of a pale, freckled face. She sighs with relief.

"Charlie," The girl says again, shoving more books off of his burly body before tenderly prying open one of his eyelids, "Charlie, are you alright? Can you breathe? Is anything broken?"

He doesn't answer, blinking dizzily in the harsh light and struggling to shove himself up into a sitting position. Pressing insistently on his shoulder, Izzy commands, "Lie still." She turns to Fred and George, standing over her wearing identical expressions of puzzlement and concern. "Would one of you fetch the nurse, please?" Izzy requests sweetly.

"Sure," Fred chirps, very eager to be helpful, turning on his heel and sprinting away. George fidgets, leaning over Charlie's prone form to ask, "Is he dead?"

Rolling her eyes, Izzy responds, "He most certainly is not dead, George Weasley. Don't be ridiculous. Pulling a bookshelf over onto one's head isn't healthy, but I'm sure it's non-fatal in the vast majority of cases. Help me move some more of these books. And be careful not to damage them anymore than they already have been."

Together the pair manage to excavate Charlie, who is obviously barely conscious and quite delirious. When Izzy carefully brushes her fingertips along the large welt in the middle of his forehead, the boy smiles adoringly up at her. "You're really pretty," He confesses, a huge grin splitting his rough, freckled features.

Izzy blushes red hot, uncomfortably scolding, "And you've just been whacked in the head, you oaf. Not exactly a reliable source at the moment, are you?"

Charlie pouts, his glassy blue eyes drifting shut as he claims, "Just 'cuz I got whacked... doesn't mean you aren't pretty... The two have... nothing to do... with each... other..."

He's fading and, instead of letting him, Izzy begins firmly slapping him about. "Don't go to sleep, Charlie!" She admonishes loudly, "You know better than that! Come on, open your eyes!"

"Huh?" He grunts, gaze bleary and unfocused even as he manages to cooperate with the order, "Whuzzit?"

"I said that you can't go to sleep," The girl answers brightly, grabbing her red and gold striped Gryffindor scarf off the back of a chair and bunching it up to slide beneath Charlie's head as a pillow. "You wouldn't let me sleep when I got whacked," She chirps, once again examining the knot on his forehead, "I'm returning the favor."

"Oh," Charlie says dumbly, relaxing under her touch, still grinning as he stares up at her, "Ok. Anything you want, pretty lady."

Izzy gives the tip of his freckled nose a sharp flick. Charlie yelps shrilly.

xxXxx

"My head hurts," Charlie whines, pouting at Izzy in a highly immature manner from his hospital cot the next morning.

The girl raises one thin eyebrow, desperately trying not to laugh as she answers, "Well, you just think about that pain next time you want to pull a bookcase down on top of it. Hopefully, the possibility of more will dissuade you from repeating such an inadvisable action."

Blushing, Charlie responds cheekily, "Wasn't my fault. The bloody thing jumped out at me. This just proves that libraries are dangerous places and should be avoided at all costs."

Izzy snorts, taking a few steps closer as she states, "Too bad for you then, since you'll be heading over there as soon as you're released to begin mending _all_ the books you broke."

"What?" The redhead moans, flopping about in a mock temper tantrum, "But I don't _wanna_! This is so unfair! You're the meanest mother _ever_!"

"Oh, hush," Izzy scolds, losing control for a moment and letting a bright giggle bubble up out of her throat. Charlie grins proudly. Making Izzy laugh has turned into one of his absolute favorite hobbies.

Izzy takes another step closer, looking slightly nervous. "Are you really ok, though?" She asks seriously, eyeing the tender lump on Charlie's freckled forehead.

"I'm fine," He's quick to assure, giving the girl a warm, cocky smile as his blue eyes trail over her pretty face, "Don't worry. I've been hit way worse plenty of times."

"That's comforting," Izzy mutters, rolling her eyes and slowly lowering herself down onto the edge of his bed. Grinning, the redhead sprawled out in it claims, "It should be. Proves I'm practically indestructible."

"Hmm," Izzy answers with a small smile, "You know, if that weren't so ridiculous, I might actually believe it."

"What's not to believe?" He answers happily, "I've got a phenomenally hard head!"

"Well, I believe that much at least," Izzy teases as the both of them break down into hysterical giggles.

xxXxx

She's late.

Cale checks his watch yet again and scowls. Izzy is over twenty minutes late meeting him and he's getting nervous. What if she changed her mind? Was she standing him up? Had it all been just one great big joke?

No way.

Cale would not believe that and he most definitely would not let Izzy back out of their date now. She'd promised, after all, and she really needed to just get over her irrational fear of normal social interaction.

Cale stands up from the front steps, brushing off the seat of his nicest trousers before stomping off to search for _his_ girl.

He finds her in the hospital wing, even though he didn't want to. He had a suspicion that's where she'd be and can't decide if finding her there is worse than if she just would've stood him up. He doesn't like that he's second to Charlie Weasley on the girl's list of people she wants to talk to that morning.

Cale stands in the doorway, silently seething as he watches them laugh, as he watches Charlie make Izzy laugh so brightly, as he watches her sit so close to the Gryffindor on the bed, as he watches her hand _almost_ brush against the redhead's by complete accident on her part. That sort of thing never happens with anyone else, not even Myron!

"Hey, Bel," He calls into the room, making Izzy jump. Offering a highly forced smile, Cale asks, "Forgetting something?"

"Oh!" The petite brunette gasps, hand flying up out of the blanket and, thankfully, away from Charlie's to cover her perfect pink mouth. "Oh, Cale," She coos regretfully as she gets to her feet and smoothes out the dark blue jeans she's wearing over her lean legs, as well as the heavy, black wool coat that bulks up the rest of her tiny body, "I'm so sorry! I just wanted to check on Charlie before we left and I must have lost track of time."

Glaring at the stocky young man lounging quite smugly in the bed--the thick, freckled arms tucked behind his head of ridiculous red hair, the mocking smile on his freckled face out of place beneath such a large and ugly welt--Cale answers, "It's alright. Are you ready to go now? We missed the carriages so I guess we're walking."

"Hogsmeade, huh?" Charlie inquires, looking vaguely crestfallen when he realizes that the two are going together.

Izzy nods, sheepishly announcing, "Yes. Cale asked me and, well, since Myron is too busy..."

Cale's brown eyes darken and he feels slighted. He thought she wanted to go with him, but it turns out that he's just a bloody plan B.

But Izzy faces him and he smiles once again as she says, "I'm sorry about making us miss the coaches, but the twins told me about a shortcut we can use instead of walking the long way."

"Ok," The tall Slytherin grudgingly agrees, rather unhappy about taking directions off those two hooligans. He's already given them three detentions a piece for various infractions and he doesn't trust either one. "Let's go then," He says, struggling to keep his tone even.

Izzy spares on more smile on the boy in the bed, stating, "Of course. I hope you feel better, Charlie. And, remember, straight to the library as soon as you're released.""Yes, ma'am," The teen answers, saluting dutifully as a wide grin splits his handsome features, "Soon as I'm released... though, I must warn you, I'm still feeling a bit woozy. I might be in her for days... _weeks_, even.

He laughs and Izzy purses her lips in lighthearted mock annoyance. "Oh, hush up, you big baby," She scolds, reaching out to give the tip of his nose a dainty but sharp flick.

"OUCH!!" He squeals, hands flying up to cover his face as he whines, "Bloody hell, woman! That _hurt_!"

"Ready, Cale?" Izzy asks sweetly as she turns around, completely ignoring Charlie's theatrical moans and whimpers. Cale takes a moment to close his gaping mouth, to choke down the rising lump of jealousy in his throat before responding, "Ya... ya, I'm ready."

"Have fun, kiddies!" Charlie yells. The tall blonde turns for a moment to glare venomously before following Izzy out the door.

xxXxx

"Free sample?" The a shop girl in Honeyduke's offers brightly, hardly seeming fazed by the fact that Cale is embroiled in a moment of deep brooding. He snatches a confection off the tray and pops it into his mouth without a glance, barely tasting the peppermint sting on his tongue as he glares across the small shop and where _his_ date is talking animatedly with Nero Roman and Trinh Tien.

She's been doing the same thing pretty much all afternoon, paying attention to everyone but him. He's sick of it! Izzy can't have finally agreed to go out with him just to ignore him! She can't just play with his feelings like this!

He watches as Nero and Trinh, who, against all odds, seem to be completely taken with one another, wave goodbye and walk out of the store. Thinking _it's about damn time_, Cale saunters over to his date.

Before he can get to her, suggest maybe the go somewhere where there won't be so many damn interruptions, Izzy starts chatting with the clerk behind the counter, a tall, pretty blonde woman with her hair clipped up into an unusual series of twists. "Shame he couldn't be here," She chirps, leaning against the register and sighing theatrically, "I like that brother of yours. He's damn foxy." Her brash American accent is out of place and just a little jarring.

"Myron's not my brother," Izzy corrects gently, sucking on a chocolate candy and pursing her perfect little lips as she turns the confection over in her mouth, "Not really. He only acts like it. I met him on the train and he just sort of adopted me."

Another spike of jealous courses through Cale's body as Izzy talks about their friend, as she continues to ignore him in favor of others.

"That's so cute," The clerk coos, going all starry eyed at the story. Freaking Myron. Girls always think he's cute. He could have anyone he wants and he's got to keep Izzy all to himself, even when he's several continents away.

"I'll tell him you said hello," The petite brunette says with a laugh, "Let him know he's got to get down here and treat you to dinner for all this chocolate you've been giving me... stop that, by the way. I'm going to get horribly fat."

Cale and the clerk snort in unison. "Skinny little thing like you could use a bit of meat on your bones," The young woman behind the counter argues, "It's a wonder you don't blow off on windy days." She turns to grin at him, winking as she asks, "Right, man?"

"Right," The teen agrees, offering out his hand and greeting, "I'm Cale."

"Sue Green," She chirps, grinning as she gives your arm a firm pump, "I remember Izzy mentioning you once or twice. How's it going? You want a piece of chocolate?"

"I'm fine," Cale replies gruffly, shooting his date a significant glance and trying hard to communicate that he wants to leave.

She doesn't seem to get it. She goes back to chatting with Sue, asking her about her unusual hairstyle.

Cale wanders away to sulk near the free peppermints.

xxXxx

Charlie doesn't really mind cleaning up his own messes. He would have gladly come to the library and straightened up the books, even if it hadn't meant making Izzy happy. He only made a fuss about it for her, to be able to tease the girl and watch as her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed and her cheeks flushed prettily. It was a sight to which he was rapidly becoming addicted.

However, futile crushes aside, the only problem the stocky seeker can find with his task of repairing and reshelving an entire stack of books is that Madame Pince is hovering and glaring, sort of irate at him for disturbing the quiet and order of her library.

With the back of his freckled neck itching rather violently under the weight of her stare, Charlie tries to ignore the old woman, tries to stay focused on his task. The muscle end of picking up the jumbled pile is no problem, he thinks with a proud quirk of his lips. Charlie is a fit bloke, after all. Unfortunately, he is having a bit of an issue with alphabetizing. Damn dyslexia. Putting everything right is going to take all day.

He's thinking of Izzy--as he is most of the time these days--when he finds it beneath a thick leather-bound tome whose title he doesn't bother reading. The flash of red and gold draws his eyes and he soon finds himself with a handful of soft, faded cotton: a scarf.

And he knows that it's _her_ scarf, has a vague memory of her sliding it beneath his head while he was half passed out on the ground the afternoon before. He remembers the feel of her fingertips dragging lightly across the surface of his skin. Charlie smiles, grasping the length of material that was so recently wrapped around the girl's lovely neck.

His mind is made up in just a second.

"Madame Pince," The stocky teen calls, voice as quiet and miserable as he can manage. He stands, shoving the scarf into a back pocket and holding his forehead.

The librarian fixes him with a dark look.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Charlie moans pitifully, swaying a bit on his feet, "But I just don't think I can do anymore today. My head is starting to hurt again and I really need to lie down."

He doesn't think the woman particularly believes him, her lips drawing into a tight, colorless line in her wrinkled face, but she still snaps, "Fine. I expect you back to finish early tomorrow."

"Of course," He replies, turning and limping away towards the exit, "Thank you."

Once outside, he believes he's in the clear, grinning and making his way to find Fred and George. He remembers what Izzy said that morning about the pair of them showing her a shortcut to Hogsmeade and he needs them to show him as well. It's sort of a long walk and he wants to find the girl as soon as possible. Not getting caught skipping out of his punishment would be a plus as well.

Besides, Izzy must be cold without her scarf. And it's due to start snowing soon.

The twins are lounging on the front steps of the castle, identical ginger heads bent over that strange scrap of insulting parchment they've been carrying everywhere with them lately. The pair of first years are, once again, poking at it with their wands, giggling and whispering incantations. It sort of sounds like... like they're trying to get it to do something beside make crude remarks...

"Hey," Charlie calls, plopping down between the boys and giving their hair a fond tousle, "Mind showing me that shortcut to Hogsmeade?"

They fix him with matching skeptical glances. "Why?" The one on his left questions, "You don't need to sneak out."

"I sort of do," Charlie replies, "I'm supposed to be cleaning up the library. Besides, I want to get there quick so I can give Izzy her scarf. She left it the other day."

They grin impishly. "Don't you think she's a bit out of your league?" The twin on the right teases, "I mean, I don't blame you for fancying her but she's a ten and you're closer to about a five-and-a-half."

"Shut it," Charlie growls in response, thumping the boy hard on the shoulder.

The other one speaks up, adding, "Not our fault you decided to crush on the Untouchable."

"The what?" Charlie asks, frowning in confusion because he's never heard anyone else refer to Izzy by that name.

"The Untouchable," The first twin answers, scowling and rubbing his sore shoulder, "That's what some people call her. 'Coz she can't stand to be touched, you know? Lots of blokes make passes at her-"

"Including Gred," The other twin interrupts with a laugh.

"Oi," _Gred_ goes on with a self-important humph, "Can't blame a man for trying. And at least I wasn't as bad as Percy, not to mention that idiot Slytherin she's always hanging around. He's completely pathetic."

"Can't be that pathetic seeing as how Izzy's on a date with him right now," His brother argues, sighing sadly, "What is the world coming to when a pretty Gryffindor like her stoops to the level of dating one of those snakes?"

"They're just friends," Charlie growls, fists tightening at the very thought. Damn that Cale.

The twins shrug, the one on the left stating, "Well, no offense but he's still probably got more of a chance than you. He's never almost killed her."

His face growing pale as a knot of guilt twists up into his stomach, Charlie quietly asks, "Who told you about that?"

"Everyone," The twin on the right answers, "It's been big gossip ever since Izzy started tutoring you, especially the fact that you used to hate her and are now so ridiculously smitten."

"Ya, what's up with that?" The other twin chirps, smirking maliciously, "Do you fall hopelessly in love with all the girls you try to kill?"

"I didn't try to kill her!" The stocky redhead vehemently defends, cheeks growing hot and his resolve weakening, "It was an accident! A mistake!"

"Relax," They laugh in unison, the one of the right finishing, "We know you didn't _really_ try to kill anyone... you're just not very bright, is all. It can hardly be helped."

Glaring, Charlie snaps, "Gee, thanks." He's starting to rethink this now. He is sort of an idiot; he doesn't get good grades and everyone--except for Izzy--says so, often straight to his face. It's not like he would have a chance with such a smart, pretty girl, even if she wasn't _untouchable_, so why bother? He's probably just going make an arse of himself yet again...

"Don't get all discouraged," The twin on the left states, giving him a comforting yet painfully condescending pat on the shoulder, "We're just taking the piss. If you really want her, we'll help you get her."

"Ya," The other one agrees, preening rather importantly, "Because you're our brother. And because we're awesome like that."

Charlie has a sudden and very strong desire to run away screaming but, against his own better judgment... he's also sort of intrigued. The twins are well known for ingenuity and creativity and, he thinks, if anyone can help him catch Izzy's eye, it's the two of them.

Still, he has his misgivings. "What's in it for you?" The teen challenges, openly skeptical because they're not really the type to offer their services pro bono.

They grin, evilly and in unison. "Not much," Gred says with a flippant shrug, "Just a copy of your rounds schedule-"

"-and a promise that we'll be invisible when we pass you on them," The other one--Feorge, Charlie supposes--adds mysteriously.

He frowns at the pair, not entirely prepared to become party to their mischief, but also sorely tempted by any help they might give. "What are you going to do?" He asks, narrowing his blue eyes and trying to stare down both at once. The task is not an easy one.

"You've already done most of the work for us," Gred replies with rather conspiratorial grin and whisper, "Izzy fancies you."

Barely even noticing that the twin answered a different question that the one he was asking, a bright, boyish smile breaks out on Charlie's face. "Really?" He presses hopefully.

"No," Feorge giggles, effectively bursting his brother's fragile bubble.

Charlie socks him hard in the arm, scowling darkly.

"Such a bloody woman," The boy laughs, wincing a bit as he rubs the forming bruise, "And Izzy is sort of fond of you... like an ugly puppy she rescued from the shelter and taught to fetch her slippers. There's some potential."

"You are really asking for it," Charlie growls menacingly, quite fed up and ready to scrap this entire scheme. He should have gone with his first instinct, the one that said that he should under no circumstances trust the twins and that Izzy is far out of his league. "Just..." He sighs defeatedly, "Just forget it. Forget the whole thing. She beautiful and smart and perfect and I don't stand a chance."

"Take it easy," Gred orders, sensing their Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card slipping away with each passing moment of Charlie's misery and angst, "We were screwing around. She does like you. And we can help. Just say the word." At his older brother's look of longing and indecision, the boy holds out the scrap of parchment, stating, "Ask Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail. Let them settle it."

"Ya!" Feorge pipes up, nodding enthusiastically, "They give advice and haven't steered us wrong yet."

Glaring, Charlie snaps, "You want me to ask a piece of enchanted parchment for dating advice?"

"What've you got to lose?" Gred beams.

"My dignity," His brother growls.

"Can't lose what you never had," The other twin snickers, shoving the parchment into Charlie's hands, "Just ask."

Glaring, he sighs heavily and unfurls the blank scrap open in his wide lap. "Should I go after Izzy?" The seeker questions, even though he feels foolish for doing so, "Do I have a chance at all with her?"

The three brothers wait on edge for the answer to appear and are not disappointed:

_Mr. Moony believes that Mr. C. __Weasley__ would do better to leave chance up to card games. Futile or not,__ love is always worth chasing._

_Mr. Prongs is of the opinion that Mr. C. __Weasley__ should spend less time moping and more time wooing. He thinks that Mr. C. __Weasley__ should under no circumstances take no for an answer. Persistence is __key __when pursuing reluctant women._

_Mr. __Padfoot__ heartily concurs with __Mr.s__ Moony and Prongs and would like to take this opportunity to make several crude remarks questioning Mr. C. __Weasley's__ manhood. He strongly advises Mr. C. __Weasley__ to grow a pair and go get the girl already._

"Well," Gred chirps resolutely, a mocking and victorious smile splitting his freckled face, "There you have it."

Charlie pauses briefly to think of a counterargument, doesn't, and then states, "Alright... what's the plan?"

xxXxx

She's trying. She really is. It's not like she wants this date to go down in flames. It's not like she wants to be so terrified all the time. It's not like she wants to be such a broken little freak.

But that's her life. That's what her life has been like since she was two-years-old. And there's nothing she can do about it.

"Cale," Izzy calls nervously, walking a few paces behind the tall blonde as he leads them through the snowy woods, "Where are we going? Is this really safe? Maybe we should go back before we get lost..."

He smiles flatly over his shoulder, breaking the terse silence that's stretched on between them because he's annoyed and she knows it, doesn't want to feel so bad about it being her fault but does anyways.

"It's not too much further," Cale replies, turning back around, "Don't worry about get lost. I know where we're going."

Izzy fidgets nervously, shivering and wondering where on earth she left her scarf. It would be so nice to have at that very moment... but she's got more important things to worry about, like trying to figure out Cale's intentions and whether or not she wants anything to do with them. She... likes him. He's her friend, has been for years, but, recently... Izzy's found herself rather reluctant to trust him.

Because he touched her without permission, while she was unconscious and unable to stop the boy from doing so. The very thought makes her sick to her stomach, makes her feel violated and unclean. And she doesn't know if she's ever going to be able to get past that.

"Come on," The boy calls, stopped up ahead and beckoning her to join, "I want to show you."

After a few tentative steps, Izzy is beside him, hugging herself against the cold and looking down over the edge of a small cliff. She gasps quietly as she catches sight of what's at the shaded base: a congregation of sparkling fairies dancing around a large circle of toadstools.

"It's a fairy ring," Cale whispers, voice deep and sincere, "I found it the other day when I was helping Hagrid run a detention... I thought you'd like to see it."

"It's beautiful," Izzy replies softly, unable to look away from the perfect twirling bodies, all the colors. Vaguely, she thinks she can hear a sweet melody drifting up from the glittering ring.

"I-" Cale begins, nervous clearing his throat, "I thought that..."

Izzy looks away from the fairies, into her friend's intensely focused brown eyes.

"I'm glad you like it," The boy finally mutters, frost-pink cheeks growing even pinker, "And... I'm glad you came with me today. I like spending time with you."

Giving a small, embarrassed smile, Izzy replies, "I like spending time with you, too, Cale." Her gaze drops because her face is getting hot. She's confused, conflicted. She doesn't know what to do.

Slowly, the girl manages to force herself to look up again, just in time to witness Cale's face leaning in towards her own. Their lips touch, just barely. It's sweet and gentle.

Every inch of Izzy's small body tenses into high-alert mode, fight or flight reflexes she never entirely turns off kicking into action.

Because he's _touching_ her.

Because his breath smells--oh, God, _tastes_--like peppermint.

Like... _"My pretty little Isabel..."_

It's a split second and it's uncontrollable, her hands shooting out to plant roughly against Cale's firm chest, her arms shoving him as hard as she can away with a strangled scream.

But he's big. He's solid and she's a skinny little waif. She shoves so hard and he doesn't move but she does, loses her balance and trips backwards.

Cale takes a moment too long to realize what's happening. His fingertips just barely miss Izzy's grasping hands as she free falls over the edge of the cliff.

This feeling of sickening helplessness and certain death, the girl realizes as she plummets towards the ground, is why she hates flying.

The whole world vanishes in a flash of white hot color and a quiet melody.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Sorry the update took so long. School was a bitch but I'm on vaca now and am working diligently on writing and posting more chapters of (hopefully) all my stories. Anyways, in the meantime I would love reviews like I love candy and booze. And I do love my candy and booze.


	14. Part 14: Let It Snow

Part 14 - Let It Snow

Having had no luck finding Izzy in Hogsmeade, Charlie and the twins are just about to give it up for the day when they see Cale Eyret come crashing out of the forest at the end of the lane. He's alone and extremely disheveled, not to mention distraught. The tall blonde hardly spares them a glance as he goes running by in the direction of the castle.

"Oy, Cale!!" Fred calls after him, "Where's Izzy? We found her scarf!!"

Cale stops and turns, out of breath. "Fairies," He pants urgently, doubled over and sweating despite the cold weather, "Cliff. Fall. Gone. Shit. Shitshit_shit_."

Charlie watches as the twins share confused glances. "O... K..." George drawls, "Let's try that once more, and this time, how about complete sentences?"

Glaring and still trying to catch his breath, Cale snaps, "I was showing... I was showing Izzy a fairy ring... she fell into it and they took her... I've got to go get Dumbledore... get her back..."

"You idiot," Leaves Charlie's mouth before he has a chance to stop himself, the brawny seeker's heart constricting painfully as he thinks about the possibility of Izzy being in real danger, "Where? We'll look for her while you go for help."

"Just down the ridge that way," Cale states, pointing in the direction he came from and already running again towards the castle, "Bottom of the cliff. I'll be back!"

"Idiot," Charlie mutters, jogging in the direction of the forest with only one thought on his mind: _Find __Izzy._

xxXxx

"Bloody fairies," Izzy grumbles, limping and cold and lost because those damnable creatures ditched her somewhere very deep in the Forbidden Forest with no hope of finding her way out. "Probably find this terribly funny," The girl complains, though no one is around to hear, though her ankle somehow got twisted and her teeth are chattering and her wand is still absent as she wades through knee-deep snow, "Can't believe I thought they were pretty. Vermin."

As the sun goes down, the snow does as well, softly blanketing the forest and sapping much-needed warmth from Izzy's thin body. She's terrified but doesn't want to admit it to herself. As soon as she admits it, the girl knows all she'll want to do is curl up in a ball and cry.

So she stays angry. She hugs herself for warmth and soldiers on in what she _hopes_ is the direction of the castle as the world grows dark around her.

xxXxx

"Bloody fairies," Charlie grumbles shivering despite the five layers he has on as he rockets through the trees in search of Izzy.

Despite nearly an hour of negotiations, Dumbledore couldn't manage to force the nasty little creatures to return Hogwarts' star student. He did manage to find out that they no longer had her, that she'd been ditched somewhere in the forest and the fairies weren't giving up where, just that they thought it was very funny to have stranded the girl with a blizzard coming in.

Charlie Weasley has always been more of a man of action than words, so while everyone else continued to try to talk a location out of the fairies, he borrowed the nearest broom and set off to search the forest himself.

He is having absolutely no luck thus far and, if the weather keeps up like it is, he'll be a popsicle before long. The poor boy can hardly see through the heavy snow and thick darkness and has almost crashed at least a dozen times. Still, he's not going to give up until he finds her.

Because tonight reminds him of that night four years ago, because he thinks about it a lot, Charlie can't help dwelling on the biggest mistake of his life, when he almost killed Izzy over his own stupid stubborn pride...

The tree comes out of nowhere.

xxXxx

She's _so cold_ that she thinks she might've started hallucinating when she sees and hears a person on broomstick crash right into the tree she's been huddled against. The massive oak shudders and she feels the impact all along her spine, the bundled-up body that caused it freefalling from rather high and flopping gracelessly into the soft, deep snow. The body lies still.

Izzy approaches cautiously, unable to tell who it is because of the hats and scarves wrapped around the person's head. She's concerned though, mostly sure that it's not a figment of her hypothermic imagination, and she's determined to see if the person is alright.

The body flinches and, even over the howling wind, Izzy can hear a deep, masculine groan.

"Charlie?" She calls excitedly, crawling on hands and knees over to the body's side and indeed seeing those piercing blue eyes blinking up at her from behind a cocoon of scarves and hats.

"Izzy!" The boy groans happily, forcing himself into a sitting position and (she thinks) smiling, "I found you! Are you alright?"

"Just cold and lost," Izzy replies, clinically examining Charlie's pupils for any sign of unevenness that might indicate head injury, "Are you hurt at all? That crash did not look pleasant."

She can see the blush even though his face his obscured by a heavy scarf. "I didn't _crash_," The boy insists, "I just... had trouble landing with all this snow..."

She laughs, shivering convulsively as she arches a thin eyebrow and challenges, "Really, Charlie, I don't care that you crashed. I'm just happy you found me. Can we hurry back to the castle, please? I'm very cold."

"I _didn't_ crash," Charlie pouts, getting up and brushing the snow off his backside, "We can get out of here just as soon as I find my..."

Two feet away, half covered in snow, are the two halves of what was formerly a school broomstick. "Oh..." The young man deadpans, his shivers beginning to increase, "That's not good..."

Frowning as she stands, hugging herself desperately for warmth, Izzy complains, "Some rescue. Do you at least have your wand? Can you apparate?"

"I, uh..." The boy admits with a shy cough, "I failed the test... I splinched myself pretty bad and still haven't quite gotten the hang of it... if you can apparate, I'll let you use my wand."

Eyes narrowing, Izzy bitterly replies, "I don't know how. I'm not old enough so they wouldn't let me take the lessons."

"You're not old enough?" Charlie asks, taking Izzy's scarf out of the pocket of his outermost coat and taking off the coat as well as the blue hand-knitted sweater beneath it before offering all three to the shivering girl, "Here, put these on. You'll catch your death."

"Thank you," She answers, eagerly accepting the extra layers and snuggling contentedly into the boy's residual body heat. She sighs in relief and winds her Gryffindor scarf around her face; when the girl attempts to button Charlie's coat, she finds that her fingers are far too cold for such an operation, fumbling stupidly for a few moments before giving up.

"Is there anyone else out looking who you can signal or call?" She questions, hoping to keep Charlie from noticing her deteriorating health status, the fact that she can barely control her trembling limbs and it's becoming increasingly harder to maintain a clear thought process.

"Um... no," The young man replies, pulling out his wand and trying to think of what he should do with it, "Dumbledore was trying to negotiate with the fairies to tell where they took. He wasn't certain you were even outside and didn't want to send anyone out to search in this weather until he was. But it was taking way too long so I left on my own."

Izzy rolls her eyes, snapping, "That was ill-advised."

"Whatever happened to 'thank you, Charlie'?" He complains, a little disillusioned that Izzy isn't viewing his actions in the noble and heroic light he was hoping for.

"That was when you were actually rescuing me," Izzy primly replies, "Not running off by yourself and getting stranded as well. You found me through pure dumb luck and probably would've just frozen to death too if you hadn't crashed into that tree. It was very foolish to put yourself in danger like that... how far away are we from the castle?"

Still pouting, he states, "A few miles. Without the broom, I don't think we're going to be able to cover the distance right now. The storm's getting much worse. We should probably find somewhere to hole up until it's over."

"Agreed," Izzy says, holding out one small gloved hand that won't stay steady, "Give me your wand. I'll make a shelter. And maybe see what I can do about getting a signal or message to someone to come save us."

"Sure," He says, handing over the wand and watching in amazement as the petite girl begins swishing it about. Though her usual grace has been sacrificed to the cold, Izzy produces a small igloo-like structure in the center of the clearing; a bright red beacon hangs in the night sky far above the treetops, hardly visible even from where Charlie stands because of the snow and clouds.

Izzy frowns up at it, concentrating hard and muttering spells. The light shines brighter but, unfortunately, the girl can't seem to get it bright enough. Her muscles hurt from shivering so hard; her head feels light, numb; her brain is slow. "Let's hope for a break in the storm," She sighs, venturing clumsily towards the small opening of the shelter, "No one's going to see the signal until the sky clears up a bit."

Charlie follows the girl in through the tiny door, almost jumping when she seals it up behind him and the room plunges into darkness except for a few tiny air vents circling the ceiling.

However, the black out only lasts for a few moments. Izzy uses Charlie's wand to start a small fire in the center, filling the interior with warm light. She transfigures her scarf into a thick blanket, spreads it out as the fireside, and sits down up on it. Charlie unwinds his own scarf and joins her, sure to keep his distance but quite happy to not have to sit directly on the snow.

The pair lapse into a not entirely comfortable stretch of silence.

"Are you getting warmed up alright?" Charlie ventures quietly, nodding to Izzy's ungloved hands as she holds them as close as she can to the fire without getting burned, "You're looking a little blue."

"I'll be fine," The girl replies sensibly, even as she continues to shiver horribly, "Though too much longer out there and I might not have been..." She turns to give him a slow, sheepish smile, "I'm sorry. I was being very ungrateful before and I shouldn't have made fun of you. I really do appreciate you coming to find me. I was getting rather frightened."

"Don't worry about it," Charlie states, unable to stop himself from returning the smile, "Being abducted by fairies will make anybody a bit cranky, and the blizzard probably didn't help."

Laughing, Izzy agrees, "Yes, the weather really did just add insult to injury."

The boy's face falls. "You're hurt?" He questions.

"Not really," Izzy laughs, "Honestly, Charlie, you take things much too literal.""'Not really' doesn't mean the same thing as 'no,'" He replies, disregarding the rest of the comment, "If you're hurt, you should tell me."

"It's a sprained ankle," She answers, shrugging, "I must've landed wrong when the fairies dropped me and it's really not that bad since I've stopped walking as much. Being on ice was probably good as well. After that crash, you should be more worried about yourself. Two head injuries in as many days _can't_ be healthy."

"Can I see?" Charlie requests tentatively, "I know a thing or two about sprains and I should be able to tell how serious it is."

"I'm _fine_," Izzy insists, defensive and wary. She looks so... so scared, quaking pitifully inside Charlie's thick coat and sweater.

"At least do a drying charm on your clothes," The boy pleads, eyeing her sodden blue jeans, "You'll never get warm otherwise."

Without a word, she flicks the wand and her clothes are dry. The girl hugs her shivering knees and stares into the fire, ignoring Charlie's presence.

He fidgets uncomfortably for a few long minutes, pins and needles spiking through his limbs as they thaw. "Um..." The boy states, searching awkwardly for something to say, "So... you're... not old enough to take the apparition lessons? What's that about?"

Sparing him an almost-amused sideways glance, Izzy replies through chattering teeth, "I started school early so I'm a year younger than the rest of our class."

"How come you started early?" Charlie presses, eager to get Izzy to relax so she'll stop looking at him like he's going to attack her at any moment.

Unfortunately, the question has the opposite effect. Izzy curls more tightly in on herself, her gaze growing far off and full of pain. "I just did," The girl whispers, small and shaking miserably.

Another tense silence stretches on as the wind howls and the fire crackles.

"Got any plans for after graduation?" Charlie ventures, still eager to make the moment less uncomfortable.

Izzy shakes her head. "I applied to university," She answers softly, "I haven't heard back. I've got a few apprenticeship offers from potions companies as well... I was also thinking about taking some time off. Travelling, maybe. Other than that, I have no idea." The girl cuts her gaze towards Charlie, shyly venturing, "What about you? I hear there's a professional quidditch career in your near future."

"I don't know about that," Charlie replies, honest and modest, "I got an offer but I don't know if I'll take it... I like quidditch but it's not something I see myself doing every day for the rest of my life... it'll take all the fun out of it."

Smiling gently, Izzy asks, "What do you see yourself doing?"

Fidgeting, the redhead admits, "Well, I haven't really told anyone yet, but there's this dragon reserve in Romania. It's called Puzderie... I'd sort of like to work there as a dragon tamer."

"That sounds dangerous," Izzy comments quietly, her warm brown eyes growing wide as the rest of her slim body continues to tremble from the cold.

"A little, I guess," Her companion agrees, "But just because dragons are dangerous, doesn't mean they're vicious. They've gotten a bad rep. If they're treated with respect, they don't post anymore danger than any other wild animals... besides, I think they're the most fascinating creatures in the whole world."

_Aside from you_, He adds silently to himself, gazing fondly at the shivering brunette.

"That sounds terribly exciting," Izzy comments, the blue tinge to her skin still not fading at all. She tries to ignore the obvious signs of hypothermia, continuing, "I hope you'll be careful."

"It's not a sure thing yet," The boy replies, tugging a wool cap off his head and offering it to Izzy, "You're not looking so good. Maybe you should put on a few more layers."

She shakes her head, smiling sweetly. "I'll be fine," She insists, though her teeth chatter and her plump little lips are blue, "Stop giving me your clothes or you're going to get cold."

"I wasn't wandering out in the snow for hours," Charlie insists, "You need them more than I do... you should button up the coat, try to keep in as much warmth as you can."

Izzy frowns down at the large black buttons that gave her so much trouble outside. "No, I'm fine," She says, not wanting such an obvious repeat of her previous failure.

And then, like a light switching off, Izzy suddenly can't remember where she is. Panicked and trying not to let it show, she gazes blankly around the interior of the igloo for some kind of clue.

Charlie catches on rather quickly that something is wrong. "Are you alright?" He asks carefully. When Izzy doesn't answer, the boy repeats his question more forcefully, "Izzy? Izzy? Are you alright? What's going on?"

"I-I don't know where I am," She stutters, eyes wide and wild as her trembling breaths come in short, terrified bursts, "I don't remember how I got here. Charlie... Charlie?"

"Izzy, relax," Her companion hurriedly states, scrambling up on his knees and getting closer to the girl, "You're in a worse stage of hypothermia than I thought and it's making you confused. You're in the Forbidden Forest, alright? You got here by falling into a fairy ring." He catches her frightened gaze and makes sure to hold it, getting her to calm slightly. "You've got to take off the coats," Charlie decides, "Your body isn't making enough heat for them to be doing any good. We've got to get your skin closer to a heat source."

Because Charlie is just about the only thing that makes any sense at the moment, Izzy does not hesitate to comply with his order. However, she's forgotten that her arms aren't working right and immediately gets tangled up trying to remove Charlie's thick jacket. She's frustrated and confused and scared; she really feels like crying.

"Relax," Charlie insists, his voice low and steady, "You're going to hurt yourself. Sit still and I'll pull it off you, ok?"

"Ok," Izzy replies with a nod, allowing Charlie to grasp the collar of his baggy coat and tug it carefully down her arms. Once the coat is off, he says, "Ok, now the sweater. I'm going to grab the bottom and pull up, so raise your arms... I'll, uh, try not to touch you."

Again, the girl nods and complies with the redhead's order. He's very slow and gentle, true to his word and never once so much as brushing up against Izzy in any way that might make her uncomfortable.

Down to her own coat once again, begins trying to undo the large black buttons down the front of it. She has no more luck than when she was trying to do up the ones on Charlie's coat. Her fingers feel fat and clumsy. It's becoming harder and harder to force back her welling tears.

"Izzy, stop," Charlie says, his face set in an expression of tender concern, "I'll help you with those, alright? Just calm down. Everything's going to be fine."

The girl lets her hands fall to her sides, biting back sobs and trying her best to believe him.

Charlie kneels in front of the petite brunette, watching her warily. "Alright," He says, "I'm going to undo the buttons. That's all, I promise."

Izzy nods and he reaches out to slide the smooth circle of smooth black wood out of its hole. His eyes locked with Izzy's, Charlie continues down the line, moving from her throat to her lean breastbone, down her concave stomach, slim hips, all the way to the last button just above her delicate knees. Izzy sits oddly still, still trembling violently, small and scared, those huge doe eyes desperately begging Charlie not to hurt her. He goes around behind her, takes the collar and carefully pulls the jacket down her arms.

Beneath the coat, he's wearing a long-sleeved white blouse. It's very pretty but the silky material it's made of is thin and insubstantial. "No wonder you're so cold," Charlie observes, trying hard not to let his eyes linger where the fabric drapes against the soft swell of Izzy's modest chest. He coughs and turns away, hopefully before she caught him blushing and staring. "Right," The young man states, "I'll get your shoes, too. And then you just sit as close to the fire as you can get without burning up. That should do the trick. You'll be feeling better in no time."

"I think I'm already feeling a little better," Izzy murmurs, placidly submitting to having one tennis shoe carefully unknotted and pried off. Though Charlie can see that's she's still shivering, her skin has begun to pink up and he's hopeful. He barely touches her left ankle and the girl immediately flinches away from him, hissing in pain.

"I take it that's the sprain I'm not supposed to worry about," Charlie half-jokes, gesturing for her to bring the limb back into his reach, "Come on, I'll be gentle."

"It hurts," Izzy pouts, still shivering, still scared, still miserable, still slow and confused.

"I know," Charlie reassures her, "But you still need your shoes off. And if you let me take a look, I might be able to splint it or wrap it for you. It'll hurt a lot less that way."

Izzy seems to be mulling over the young man's offer. She finally accepts it, gingerly holding her leg back out to him.

Charlie undoes the laces and then carefully rolls up the cuff of the girl's jeans. Her ankle is badly inflamed, straining the white fabric of the sock. The beginning of a deep bruise is creeping over the top of the elastic.

"Ok," Charlie says, "I want to get your shoe off without hurting you. But, since your ankle is so swollen, I need to put one hand on your leg to brace it. Is that alright?"

Izzy gives a particularly bad shiver as tears spring into her eyes. "No," She whimpers gloomily, "It's not alright... you just have to pull it off without touching me."

"But I'll hurt you," Charlie argues.

"No," Izzy says again, sad, dejected.

Huffing, the boy stalls, looking desperately around until he eyes his wand sitting on the blanket. He scoops it up, mutters a few carefully placed charms, and Izzy's shoe and sock fall off her foot in shreds.

"Hey," She pouts sullenly, "You ruined my shoe."

"I'll buy you a new one," Charlie mutters with a fond eyeroll, carefully inspecting the girl's bruised ankle. "Can you flex it?" He asks.

Nodding, Izzy does so, her pretty face growing tense with pain. "It hurts though," She declares matter-of-factly.

"As long as you can still move it, it shouldn't be broken," Charlie replies, producing a light, expert sports wrap from the end of his wand, "That should do for now... just get close to the fire and let me know right away if you start feeling any worse."

"Ok," Izzy agrees, laying on her side and curling up in a tiny ball, staring into the flickering flames. Slowly, her heavy eyelids begin to drift shut.

"Don't fall asleep," Charlie insists, barely catching himself before he reaches out to give her bony shoulder a shake.

Blinking up at him beside her through the dim firelight, Izzy complains, "But I'm tired. It must be very late by now."

"Sorry," The young man states sternly, "Hypothermia has the same rules as head injuries about not sleeping."

Izzy gives a small chuckle, smiling shyly and seeming to glow. "All we seem to be doing lately is making sure neither of us gets any sleep," She observes sweetly.

Cracking a smirk, Charlie argues, "Well, you could look at it that way, or you could say that we're saving each other from certain doom. Sounds a lot more heroic."

"Hmmm," Izzy murmurs, "I suppose so. I'll be sure to put our names in for Orders of Merlin when we get back to the castle." She waits a beat and then, seeming sensible and much more like herself, adds, "You don't really have to buy me a new shoe."

"If you say so," Charlie agrees quietly. They sit in silence for a long time before the young man blurts, "Did you know that people call you the Untouchable?"

Izzy smiles wanly to herself. "Yes," She says, "I've heard that."

"Does it bother you?" He goes on, open and curious.

Izzy shrugs, stating, "I guess just in the sense that people I don't know pay enough attention to notice. It seems rather silly of them. Whatever's wrong with me, I don't see how it's anyone's business but my own."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with you," Charlie murmurs.

Her smile turning patronizing, the brunette retorts, "Then you don't know me very well."

Charlie is rather incensed by the comment. "Just because you're not like everybody else doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you," He insists fiercely, "What you went through-"

"Please don't," Izzy cuts him off, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Once more, a long silence stretches between the two teens. The fire flickers and fills the room with heat as the storm outside rages.

"Did you hear that Bill's coming for a visit in a few weeks?" Charlie says, trying to change the subject, to get his foot out of his mouth.

With a slow smile, Izzy answers, "Yes, I know. I'm the one who asked him to come. Professor McGonagall put me in charge of finding speakers for career day, and Bill agreed to give a talk about being a cursebreaker. Mac and Myron are also coming. Mac is going to talk about what the university is like, and Myron is going to talk about being a writer, his time at the Prophet and getting his book published and all that."

"Sounds wicked," Charlie states eagerly, "Who else is coming?"

"Um, Gwenog Jones is coming to talk about playing professional quidditch," Izzy yawns brightly, "The Department of Magical Law Enforcement promised they would send an auror or a hitwizard but I don't know who exactly... I'm afraid I didn't even think of asking any dragon tamers, but I'll look into it, if you're really interested."

His cheeks flushing, Charlie coughs, "Ya, uh, that would be great. If it's not any trouble. I mean, don't worry about it if it is. It's not that big of a deal."

"No trouble," Izzy murmurs, yawning enormously, "I've been trying to get a good mix of speakers and a dragon tamer would be absolutely fascinating." Her eyes begin drifting shut again.

"Don't fall asleep," Charlie orders, stretching out beside Izzy and offering her a tender smile, "You have to keep me awake, too."

"Mhmm," Izzy hums, already half dozing.

The pair lay in silence for a few moments, listening to the fire crackling and filling the space with warmth. "Izzy?" Charlie asks, gazing at the girl's pretty, peaceful face, "Izzy?"

She's fast asleep. Charlie sighs. He really did mean to keep her awake. It would probably be alright, but the young man would rather be safe than sorry about anything concerning Isabel Cooper.

He yawns, squirming to make himself comfortable on the blanket. Before long, he's joined Izzy in dreamland.

xxXxx

The following morning, the teachers who dig the pair out are slightly stunned and very touched to see the two teens curled so close together on a blanket beside the dying fire. Of course, they aren't curled _together_--poor Izzy's phobia prevents such a thing--but they do look awfully cozy. Their fingertips are just inches apart.

Charlie wakes first, blinking into the sunlight that falls in through the opening cut in the roof of their igloo. The young man takes a few moments to recognize that the faces peeking in are those of his Transfiguration and Herbology professors. Groggy, he sits up, stares, and states, "Um... hi?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley," Professor MgGonagall sternly replies, "For rushing off into a blizzard after being specifically told not to. Your actions were reckless and could have very well gotten you killed."

The teen winced, head hanging like a whipped puppy's.

A soft smile twisted the corners of the old woman's thin lips and she adds, "However, one-hundred points for keeping Miss Cooper from freezing to death. Your selfless nobility makes this entire school very proud."

Charlie's shock is abundantly apparent. The young man opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he's trying to speak, but, before he can, Professor Sprout chimes, "Is Miss Cooper alright?"

All eyes fall to the slight body curled on its side next to the fire. Izzy's slim chest moves softly but steadily. "I think she was hypothermic when I found her," Charlie announces, "The fairies took her wand. But she was ok after getting warmed up... her ankle is sprained."

"Well, do wake the poor girl," Professor McGonagall instructs, drawing her thick cloak tighter around her own thin body, "There's no sense standing around in the snow when we could all be back inside our nice warm castle."

Nodding, Charlie leans close to Izzy and coos in her ear, "Rise and shine, Cooper. I got us rescued."

Both professors snort in amusement.

But Izzy continues to sleep, her pretty face serene. Charlie doesn't quite know what to do. There's no way he's going to shake the girl awake, but he's heard about her uncanny ability to sleep through noise.

"Come on, Izzy," The young man says louder, gently blowing the brunette's curls off her forehead, "It's time to go home."

Izzy stirs. Her eyes drift open and she rolls onto her back. She blinks up at a pair of light, lovely blue eyes. "Charlie?" She whispers, voice sleep hoarse and sultry.

Charlie can't tear his gaze away. "Ya," He murmurs, his tongue feeling unusually thick, "Ya... we're, um, we're rescued."

They stare. The moment is inexplicably tense and deeply charged.

"Oh," Izzy finally answers, "Alright. Wonderful."

Charlie nods, "Uh huh."

The two teens continue to stare at one another, utterly transfixed.

Professor McGonagall clears her throat loudly and manages to break the two apart. Trying to keep a smile off her own face as she watches those of her students' flush to an endearing pink, the old woman declares, "We will be porting back to Hogsmeade. Since Miss Cooper is injured, I will send for a carriage to take us from there."

"Oh. Ya. Good plan," Charlie heartily agrees, pushing himself to his feet. He lets his arms hover close to Izzy's thin body as the girl does the same, as she wobbles on her injured ankle and gives him a soft, reassuring smile.

xxXxx

"BEL!!"

The girl flinches, shrinking behind Charlie's broad shoulder when she sees Cale running towards them. Charlie clenches his jaw and does his best to look threatening.

But it's not because of Charlie that Cale stops several feet away from the pair. No, it's because Izzy is looking at him... well, like she used to look at Charlie, like she's completely and utterly terrified of him, like he's going to hurt her.

"Bel-" Cale gasps, at a loss for what to do, "Bel, I... are you ok?"

"I'm fine," She answers, voice quiet, _polite_, "I only sprained my ankle."

"Thank Merlin!" Cale says, "I was so worried! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you or make you fall."

Still standing between them, Charlie tenses and glares at Cale like he's going to crush him at the first available opportunity.

Her shy gaze on the floor, Izzy replies, "I know, Cale. It wasn't your fault. I was clumsy."

Cale knows that's not true. He totally blew it.

Peppermint. Merlin, he's an idiot.

"We need to go to the hospital wing," Charlie announces, his voice soft for Izzy's benefit, his stare fierce for Cale's, "Get your ankle sorted, Cooper."

"Oh," The brunette responds, wincing, "Yes." She looks up at the red knot on the redhead's forehead, adding, "And your head, Charlie. You promised you'd let Madame P. take a look at it."

The young man smirks, rolling his eyes. "Ya, ya," He grumbles, "I promised, so let's get a move on." He glares at Cale again, suggesting, "You might want to sit this one out, _mate_. The room does get a bit crowded."

Hardly finding the willpower to be angry with Charlie when he's so angry at himself, Cale nods. "See you later, Bel," He mumbles miserably, turning and leaving, "I hope you feel better."

xxXxx

The ankle isn't serious. Madame P. gives Izzy a potion for the pain and swelling, and the girl is right as rain.

But she stays, sits with Charlie while he gets his head looked at and while Madame P. is fixing him a potion of his own. She stays even though she's obviously tired and hungry and sore and sad and probably just wants to crawl into bed and be alone. She stays just for him and even tries her best to put on a brave face.

Charlie really wishes he wasn't so deliriously happy about all that.

"So," The young redhead muses, sparing his companion a charming smile, "Our adventure is over."

Laughing, Izzy pulls the thin hospital blanket around her thin shoulders. "That remains to be seen," She remarks dryly, drawing her knees up to her chin, "Who knows what kinds of perils are waiting on our journey back to the tower? Fred and George do roam these halls, after all."

She has a beautiful smile, sweet but mischievous, bright but so sad, so vulnerable.

Merlin help him, Charlie loves her.

The teenager blushes red hot with the weight of that realization, fidgeting stupidly in the cot.

Of course, Izzy notices, frowning as she asks, "Are you feeling alright? You're looking very flushed." Without hesitation, she reaches across the narrow aisle and presses the back of her slim hand firmly against his forehead. Her skin is cool, her bones delicate. "I hope you aren't ill," The brunette frets prettily, sternly, "You should have Madame P. give you some Pepper-Up."

The thought strikes Charlie and his mouth runs away with it. "You should be a healer," He observes, his voice deep and husky, his blue eyes locked with Izzy's brown, "You've got the touch for it."

He regrets the statement in an instant when the touch is withdrawn. Izzy looks like she may cry. "You shouldn't tease me," She murmurs, curling in on herself once again, small and helpless but pissed. Charlie can't tell whether at him or at herself.

"I wasn't," He insists.

The silence stretches on.

"I can't," Izzy almost-sobs, close to hysterical, "Don't you think I want to? I... I hate being this way! I'm a freak!"

He wants to fold her into his arms, keep her safe from the world and her own damaged mind. "You're not a freak," The young man states quietly, "And you can do anything you want."

"Oh, spare me the inspirational nonsense!" She bites back, eyes wet and curls wild, angry color in her cheeks, "I have a hard enough time being me without having false hope thrown into the mix!"

Charlie just stares for a few moments before calmly arguing, "But you can touch, if you want to. You touched me just now without even thinking about it. And you flicked my nose yesterday. And before that, I remember you touching my head when the bookshelf fell on me."

"You mean when you pulled the bookshelf down on top of yourself," She corrects under her breath, pouting. "I don't know why," She mutters, defensive, confused, purposely not even remotely hopeful about what it could mean for her, "It's just... you." She stares. "I should be afraid of you and I'm not so... it's just you. No one else."

"No," Charlie says, a possessive, primal thrill rushing through his whole body, "You braid the girls' hair all the time. They told me so."

More anger, more staunch denial of hope. "That doesn't mean anything!" Izzy fires back, "It's just braiding hair! It's not the same as actually touching people! Hair isn't even _alive_!"

"It's a start," Charlie tells her, allowing a soft smile to pull at the corners of his mouth, "Remember you told me being dyslexic isn't my fault? That it's not something I should be ashamed of or have to struggle with all on my own? You told me that all I needed was to learn how to not let it stop me, that it would always be a part of who I am but it doesn't have to define or limit me. The same rule applies to you, Coop."

Though obviously fighting the infectious power of the redhead's smirk, Izzy grumbles, "Not fair using my own words against me." She swipes at her eyes, looking away. "Anyways, it's still not the same thing. I can't exactly send away for a handbook on how to get over being an untouchable freak."

"Cooper," Charlie reprimands sharply, tossing a small pillow at the girl's head, "You're a Gryffindor. Can the self-pity."

In an impish and very uncharacteristically immature move, Izzy sticks her tongue out at him and continues sulking.

Charlie chews his bottom lip.

Charlie holds out his hand.

Izzy's eyes grow wide with uncertainty and fear.

"I'm not going to force you, Cooper," The redhead announces, smiling softly, "But I know you can beat this and I'd like to help."

She just stares at him for the longest time, blank and frightened, and he starts to think that maybe he screwed up. pushed too hard. Then, carefully, Izzy reaches out.

"Miss Cooper."

She jumps nearly out of her skin, hand never making within a foot of Charlie's. He glares at the intruder and finds the headmaster standing in the doorway.

Dumbledore spares them both with an unreadable glance before stating, "If you are feeling up to it, I would like to see you in my office. I have some news."

"Oh," Izzy says, standing, "Alright. If it's that important." She smiles at Charlie. "I'll see you later."

"Sure," The young man responds, watching her leave the room, smiling warmly when she glances over her shoulder at him.

Once the girl is gone, Charlie relaxes back into his cot, folding his thick freckles arms behind his head. He stares up at the ceiling, smirking softly to himself as he thinks, _Well__, it's a start._

xxXxx

She can't breathe.

Is vaguely aware of having fallen out of her chair, of being slumped bonelessly on the floor of the headmaster's office.

Won't stop pinching herself to make sure it's real.

Keeps hearing the words over and over and over and over and isn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

"_Miss Cooper, we've located your brother._"

xxxxxxxxxx

_dun__dun__dun_. Hopefully you liked it! I certainly procrastinated on enough school work in order to wrap up the last cliffhanger and deliver this new one, haha. Anyways, reviews increase the likelihood of me making it through another quarter. Contribute to the cause!


	15. Part 15: Second Chances

Part 15 - Second Chances

The words are written on lined notebook paper instead of parchment, with a blue ballpoint pen instead of a quill. No matter how many times she reads her brother's spiky, thin handwriting, Izzy can't get over how completely alien the paper looks to her. The girl feels she should be a lot more shocked and hung up on the information that the paper contains, but she can't seem to get past how utterly _strange_ it is to be holding a slightly wrinkled notebook sheet after not having seen one for about seven years.

Seven years. That's how long she's been missing her brother, longer if you count the distance he put between them before that with alcohol and drugs. The tally probably comes closer to ten that way.

Ten years.

Her shoulders quiver and her gut heaves and retracts in that painful, uncontrollable way it's been doing ever since she regained her ability to actually _breathe_. She grinds the heels of her hands at the wetness stinging her cheeks.

"Miss Cooper?"

Izzy remembers that she's still collapsed on the floor of the headmaster's office. Her sense of sound has switched itself back on after a lengthy absence. She turns her head. Professor Snape is kneeling beside her, as concerned and caring as she's ever seen the Potions master look. Or at least since that first time they met... He only ever looks that way when he's looking at Izzy. Izzy can't decide whether that fact makes her feel comforted or like even more of a freak.

"Miss Cooper?" he asks, catching her dazed, far-off stare with his own, "Are you alright? Do you need to see the nurse?"

Shaking her head, Izzy forces her throat to work around the sobs still wracking her thin body. "No," she croaks, very close to hysterical with relief and excitement and grief and fear, "No. I need to see Jordy."

xxXxx

Like he has been at every meal for quite awhile now, Charlie walks into the Great Hall at breakfast and immediately scans the massive room for Izzy.

Today, he doesn't see her. Which isn't entirely unusual; Izzy does make it a habit of getting caught up in the library or Potions lab or wherever and missing meals. Charlie's heard almost all of the girl's friends scold her repeatedly for it, threatening to tattle to Myron, who used to insist on her presence at every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But none of them ever actually has, so Izzy just keeps on skipping.

As soon as he finds his dream girl absent, Charlie makes a beeline for his team's keeper. Charlie is sure that, as a roommate and good friend of Izzy's, Lark will be sure to know where she is.

"Morning," Charlie greets, sliding in between Lark and Marie, ignoring the slightly strange looks they and the other surrounding girls--Daisy, Margo, Tonks, and Trinh--as well as (what the hell?) Nero Roman give him. "Seen Izzy?" the redhead questions, right to the point.

They all look suddenly disturbed, Lark answering, "She never came back to the dorm last night. She's not still in the infirmary?"

Frowning, Charlie shakes his head. "Pomfrey said she was fine," he reported, concerned, "She was released before I was. I would've walked her back to the tower, but Dumbledore called her up to his office."

"Odd," Nero comments, his arm slung lazily around Trinh's slim shoulders. That causes Charlie to do a bit of a double-take. Having Slytherins at the Gryffindor table is not entirely unusual. Margo and Cale are there quite often. The feud hasn't been so bad in a long time, something that Izzy has had a large part in. But this kind of _fraternization_ is just... well, odd. Nero is a rich, spoiled pure-blood. Trinh is a Hufflepuff, for Merlin's sake. She's brainy and has green hair and hits on almost anything with a Y chromosome.

But Charlie can't concern himself with their strange relationship right now. He _needs_ to find Izzy. He _needs_ to talk to her. He was so close last night, so close to having the girl's trust. He's sure that he can help Izzy heal.

"Alright," Charlie says, getting up to go search, "I'll find her. Later, mates."

xxXxx

Her eyes feel like great big water balloons, overfilled and ready to burst for, Merlin, probably the millionth time since she got the news. But she's also excited, so excited, fidgeting with nerves and anticipation. And she tries to forget that she's standing outside HM Prison Belmarsh in South London. That her brother has been inside for the past seven years.

Arson, manslaughter, attempted manslaughter: these are words Izzy never really considered in conjunction with her brother. But Jordan Daniel Cooper, inmate #32981, was sentenced to fifteen years for exactly those crimes, for burning down their squat and killing six and injuring four drug-dealing thugs in the process, for flying into a drug-addled rage when Izzy didn't come home, when he thought that she'd been murdered by men to whom he owed money.

And he's getting paroled today, a shortened sentence because of good behavior and years of single-minded devotion to rehab and counseling, because Jordy turned his life around. Because he thought that his choices had killed his sister--at the very least stranded her in a cruel world all alone--and could only live with himself by becoming the man she would've wanted him to be all along, the big brother she deserved.

At least that's what the speech he wrote for his parole hearing said. Izzy read the wrinkled sheet of notebook paper over and over on train ride to London, sobbing and laughing with joy.

And now Izzy waits outside the prison, standing between Professor Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore and trying to keep her hands warm and her eyes dry and her mind from flying off in all directions at once.

Obviously uncomfortable, both with the situation and with Izzy's fidgeting, Snape checks his pocket watch for the third time in ten minutes. He reports, "Should be soon."

Izzy nods sharply; her anticipation grows worse; she starts to cry again, but she's smiling, too, so at least there's that.

She's mostly gotten herself under control by the time the reinforced steel gates buzz shrilly and slide apart and the thin man limps out, leaning heavily on a cane and joking with the guards who escort him. He... doesn't really look like Jordy. Well, that's not entirely true. The eyes are the same kind green but edged with deep wrinkles, some shiny scar tissue curling at the corner of the left. The same scar continues down the man's gaunt cheek--not quite touching the junction of his smirking lips--down the side of his sinewy neck and disappears under the hem of his black wool sweater. Izzy can see more scar tissue on his left hand, the one that holds the cane; she can see that his left leg is thinner than the right, stiff and misshapen. But the man has Jordy's scraggly chestnut hair, although it's longer, tied neatly at his nape and shot through with scattered threads of gray.

Since losing him, Izzy has spent a lot of time holding onto her brother's image, thinking about what he would look like as he grew older. The last time she saw Jordy, he was twenty, young and high and cruel. Today, he's twenty-seven; he looks and walks like he's forty, thin and hobbled and tired.

Izzy's gloved hand flies up to smother another sob that threatens to burst from her mouth.

But Jordy hears and looks up and sees his sister and his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open and his knees buckle and he collapses to them on the damp gravel just feet away. "Izzy?" he whispers, stunned.

Reflexively smiling, Izzy nods and takes a few steps closer, stands over her brother. She stares down into her brother's eyes and, though she hoped she would be able to, can't find the strength to reach out and pull him into a hug.

But Jordy seems to understand. He's crying, but he's smiling and his scarred hand flutters like he wants to touch his sister but knows he shouldn't, knows that Izzy doesn't like to be touched.

Izzy thinks he's sweet for remembering.

"God, Izzy-baby," Jordy sobs, seeming unable to take his eyes off the sister he thought was dead and gone, "God, I'm sorry. I'm so, _so _sorry."

xxXxx

All things considered, Jordy takes the news of his sister's magical powers very well. Sharing a late breakfast in the Leaky Cauldron, the man is all nervous smiles as he jokes that he always knew his baby sister was something special but her being able to fly and bibbidi-bobbidi-boo really comes out of left field.

From the corner of her eye, Izzy sees Professor Snape sneer from his and Dumbledore's table across the room--their effort at giving Izzy and her brother some privacy as they reconnect. She barely resists the urge to make a rather rude and uncharacteristic gesture back at the disapproving Potions master. Instead, the young woman grins weakly and fights down tears as she declares, "I-I looked for you Jordy. We looked for you. They didn't have your name listed anywhere, not even in the prisons."

"Oh, that," Jordy responds, scratching anxiously at the shiny, puckered scar tissue on his left cheek. He offers his sister a half-hearted, faux-brave grin and declares, "Well, I had to be put into protective custody. The guys I killed in the fire had some friends looking for revenge, and I got sort of, uh, stabbed while I was in the hospital. I got transferred afterwards and registered under a different name, so they wouldn't find me again while I was inside."

Izzy's hands fly up to smother the startled squeak that comes from her open mouth. She starts to cry again.

"Aw, Iz," Jordy pleads helplessly, "Don't- don't cry. I was fine. Really. It was just a little stab. They stitched me up and I was good as new. Didn't hit nothin' important."

The girl's gaze grows heated. Sniffling hotly, she insists, "I consider the entirety of my brother to be important, thank you very much." Her gaze drops guiltily to her shaking hands. Izzy scolds herself for scolding her brother. She should be hugging him, not trembling uselessly inside her own body and lashing out at him with words.

"Ok, Iz," Jordy quietly replies, refusing to take his eyes off his sister, "I'm sorry if I upset you."

Shaking her head, Izzy answers, "No. It's... you didn't. Just, I-I wish..." She trails off.

Jordy offers a thin grin, soothing, "I know, Iz. Me, too." He stares at her for a long few moments, finally huffing a brief, manic laugh. "Jesus," the man declares, disbelieving, "I never thought I'd see you again. You never turned up in the system, and I thought... if you weren't dead, you were long gone. I hoped you'd run. That you'd just gone and tried to forget about me." There were tears coming to his eyes again. "You never deserved what I did to you," he wept, "I didn't deserve you at all, and I never will. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better man for you."

Izzy realizes that she's crying, again, and argues, "It wasn't your fault. You were sick, Jordy. I know that it wasn't really you. You were a kid yourself. It was... just too much."

Roughly shaking his head, Jordy insists, "No! No, Iz! There's no excuse for what I did! You were so small and scared and helpless, and I was supposed to _protect you_!" Jordy puts his head down on the sticky tavern table, onto his folded arms and sobs convulsively. His thin shoulders hitch and heave.

The room beyond their secluded corner booth is almost empty, dark and quiet except for Jordy's muffled anguish. Izzy wants to put her hand on her brother's shoulder, wants to hug her brother and tell him that it's ok, that she forgives him, that he's better now and they're together and that's all that matters.

But she can't. She still can't bring herself to touch her brother, can't tell him that what he did is ok because it's still not and Jordy doesn't want to hear that it is, doesn't want to hear the diplomatic lie.

"Ok," Izzy declares, swallowing a lump in her tight throat, "You failed me back then. I didn't understand how one day you could just... decide to hate me. You were the _one_ person I had in the whole entire world and then you were... you were just like everybody else. Worse. A-And it hurt. A lot. It still does."

Jordy's crying grows more intense, more pained and shamed and sorrowful, and Izzy is a little afraid that he's going to make himself sick with it.

"But you get a second chance," the girl continues, smudging at her wet cheeks and puffy red eyes, "And I trust that you are a better man now. That you won't make it any harder for me to keep on loving you. Because it's been hard, Jordy. I won't lie. But I've never stopped. I don't think I can. So just... just don't let me down again. That's all I ask."

For a few moments, the shaggy-haired man keeps his head down, heaves out the last of his wretched sobs. But then he sits up, squares his narrow shoulders, fixes his kind, swollen green eyes on his baby sister. He swallows hard. "I won't," he murmurs hoarsely, "I-I swear on my life... All the time I was inside. I just spent it trying to be the man I should've been all along. I don't if I succeeded, but... at least I'm not the same stupid, selfish bastard I was."

The siblings share slow, sad smiles. And move forward in lives that once again include each other.

xxXxx

Their next order of business is to look for an apartment for Jordy, something nice, Izzy insists. She does a lot of insisting, like how she's going to use the royalties she gets from the several potions discoveries she's made to help with the rent, how she's going to move in with her brother as soon as she finishes school, how she's going to take a job with a lab in London, one she's heard has been doing excellent research on potions to treat burns and burn scars.

Grinning absurdly, Jordy goes along with anything and everything his baby sister wants. Although he does put up a token resistance at the idea of her helping him with rent, he seems equally thrilled about her moving in with him. "This is kinda like when we found our warehouse," he observes, limping alongside his sister as they look for apartment 6G, "Except that you're taller. So that's a little weird, ya? I still think of you as being ten-years-old, all tiny and adorable. But now you're all grown-up and beautiful. It'll take some getting used to. Hey, do you still like Chinese food? We should totally get Chinese food for later!"

"Sure, Jor," Izzy laughs, greatly amused by her brother's rambling, "Whatever you feel like. But not until we find a nice apartment. This place seems very promising. I guess Dumbledore knows the owner, so the rent is fairly cheap for the area. There's a tube stop, a market, a video store, and a park all within a block. And the entrance to Diagon Alley is only a mile away. I could walk to work if I get the job I want."

"Sounds nice," Jordy beams, "You always did know how to pick a winner." They take a few more steps in companionable silence, slow for the man with the cane. Finally, he asks, "So, when do you have to be back at school?"

Brushing away a stray amber curl, Izzy smiles and answers, "Next Monday. I'm taking the week off to help you get settled in." She frowns suddenly, adding, "I just remembered, I have to write Charlie and let him know."

"Boyfriend?" Jordy teases, waggling his dark eyebrows, "Should I start composing a threatening big brother speech?"

Giggling and blushing, the teen insists, "Charlie is certainly _not_ my boyfriend. He's just a friend. I'm tutoring him so that he can get his grades up enough to graduate, and, anyways, I don't _have_ a boyfriend."

"Load off my mind," Jordy jokes, stopping in front of 6G and nodding down at his cane, "It takes way too much effort to be scary these days."

Shooting her brother a stern but playful glare, Izzy declares, "I don't need you to scare anyone off for me. I'm more than capable of defending myself, thank you."

Jordy grins widely, scar tissue stretching tight and a dimple pitting his unblemished right cheek. "That's what I like to hear," he murmurs, proud and sincere.

Feeling her face get hot, Izzy looks away to fiddle with the lock on 6G and finally manages to open the door.

The room inside is bare but bright, broad windows and light wood floors and cheery yellow-and-white striped wallpaper. "It's... perfect," Izzy says, wide-eyed as she explores the tidy kitchen/living room, as she pokes her head into both of the bright bedrooms and the bathroom between them, the spacious balcony that overlooks a nearby park. She smiles at Jordy over her shoulder, watching him lean against the tiled bar counter that separates the kitchen and living room areas. She asks, "What do you think?"

"Honestly?" the man laughs, "If I can unlock my own door and take a piss without anyone watching, I'm happy. Not to mention that the 'baby sister included' package has me sold on pretty much anywhere."

Izzy chuckles at her brother's antics, going back to exploring as she orders, "Check the cabinets in the kitchen for me. Make sure nothing's broken. Oh! And do you mind living so high up? I mean, the elevator _seemed_ ok, but was it too slow for you? And what if it breaks down?" Frowning, the teen muses, "Maybe we should find something on the ground floor."

"Iz," Jordy soothes, "You said so yourself: this place is perfect. Don't worry so much about me. If the elevator goes out, I'll just take a walk round the corner 'til it's fixed. Get some ice cream or something. You know, enjoy being a free man."

Fiddling nervously with the tail of her long braid, the girl states, "As long as you're ok with it... and I could probably rig up a charm to keep the elevator from breaking down and maybe to speed it up a bit, too. That thing must be at least twenty years old. I'd hate for anyone to get stuck."

A slow, fond smile spreads over Jordy's face. "You're just a great big giant nerd, aren't you?" he laughs.

"So I'm told," Izzy quietly replies, walking back into the kitchen with an equally fond smile on her pretty face, "Come on, let's go talk to the building manager. And we'll probably need to do something about furniture..."

xxXxx

He didn't realize until she was really gone, gone without a trace, but Charlie has come to depend on Izzy's presence. He's come to _love_ knowing she's around. She's a security blanket; knowing his pretty crush is safe makes Charlie feel safe. And the fact that she's vanished makes him feel anything but.

"PROFESSOR!!" he shouts, chasing Snape down a dungeon hallway because if anyone is going to know where Izzy is, it's the crotchety Potions master. "PROFESSOR SNAPE!!"

Charlie sees the man sigh heavily before turning to fix the teen with a more than usually sour expression. "Yes, Mr. Weasley?" the professor questions, curt and annoyed

"Do you know where Izzy is?" Charlie inquires, slightly out of breath from sprinting the length of the hallway in a rather impressive time. He wishes he would've actually timed that so he could chart it on his training log.

Sneering, Snape replies, "Miss Cooper was called away on a family matter. She will return on Monday." He produces a small sealed envelope from the sleeve of his robe and holds it out. "And," he grumbles, "Despite the fact that I am not a _messenger boy_ or an _owl_, she asked me to give this to you."

The redheaded teen takes the letter almost reverently, so caught up in deciphering the information he was just given that he fails to think of anymore questions to ask before the professor steals away down the hallway in a flurry of robes.

Family matter? What could that possibly mean? Izzy told Charlie that her parents were both dead. The only other family members she'd ever mentioned were her brother and uncle, both of whom are scumbags in Charlie's opinion. Both abusive, one to a far lesser extent, but still. Why would she want to see either?

Recalling a conversation he'd had once with Bill about brothers, how it was almost impossible not to love one once you had one, Charlie decides that the "family matter" must be a "brother matter." Izzy still has nightmares about what the uncle did to her; no way would she voluntarily get within a hundred miles of that monster, and definitely not alone.

He can't help growling under his breath but is unable to really get mad at Izzy. It isn't her fault that her brother was a bastard who didn't deserve to have someone as sweet and loving as Izzy care about him.

Well, anyways, maybe it's best to actually read the letter before upsetting himself so much. Charlie carefully tears up the flap of the envelope, smiling at Izzy's loopy, girlie handwriting before getting down to actually deciphering the words:

_Dear Charlie, _

_I'm sorry, but I won't be around for tutoring this week. I'm helping my brother get settled in an apartment in London. Feel free to owl if you have any pressing questions, otherwise Professor McGonogall should be able to help you in the meantime._

_See you on Monday!_

_Izzy._

Charlie feels his face getting hot, flushing with anger (and, he has to admit, probably jealousy).

But that only lasts a moment. He breathes himself calm, thinking about how he would feel in Izzy's shoes, how he would handle suddenly being handed a second opportunity at a relationship with a brother he thought he'd never see again; Charlie has to admit that he'd probably jump at the chance, so he can't fault Izzy for doing the same. Not at all.

The jealousy is still there though, hot and hard and stuck in Charlie's throat.

He walks to class and can only think about Izzy.

xxXxx

Jordy checks in with his parole officer, a heavyset older gentleman with a bushy blonde beard and eyebrows. Although Officer Holt is gruff and a bit sharp with Jordy, Izzy has him charmed within five minutes of meeting.

After, they go to see Jordy's new place of employment, a community center where Izzy's brother will be mentoring at-risk kids, demonstrating with his crippled body and awful story the dangers of drugs and alcohol and crime. The center is relatively new, tidy and cheery; it has a pool table and air hockey, a basketball court and playground outback. They hang out for an hour, meeting co-workers and supervisors and some of the kids, all of whom are very nice.

Izzy is amazed at just how good her brother is with the kids. He's charming and personable, and everyone seems to take a quick to liking to him.

"You're going to have a good time with this job, aren't you?" Izzy observes, smiling serenely as they leave the building.

"I think so," Jordy agrees, practically glowing, "I really like the idea of making a difference for those kids, keeping them from going the road I did. I worked with a different outreach program while I was inside. Scared straight, you know? And that was nice, too, but not half as much fun."

Laughing, Izzy replies, "I'll bet. Anyways, do you want to go home or maybe look for some furniture?"

"Furniture's good," Jordy answers, "But how about lunch first? My treat."

Before Izzy can answer, a bike messenger comes around the corner and narrowly misses them, clips Jordy's cane and sends the man crashing down to the pavement.

"HEY!!" Izzy shouts as the harried messenger just keeps going, "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, YOU BLOODY FUCKING WANKER!!" She kneels at her brother's side, returning his cane and urgently asking, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Jordy just laughs, struggling stiffly in an attempt to stand. "I'm fine," he chuckles, grunting, "Just don't think I've ever heard you swear like that before."

Izzy blushes, steadying her brother's cane as he pushes himself to his feet. "Well," she grumbles, still fuming, "The prat had that and more coming. I've a good mind to track him down and hex his nose to his arsecrack!"

Snorting, Jordy laughs, "You can really do that? Bloody hell. Remind me to never piss you off."

"Don't be silly," Izzy huffs, lightly brushing some dirt off his coat sleeve, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm sure," Jordy answers, seemingly bemused, "You worry too much about me. I'm a gimp, not made of glass."

"I know that," Izzy sighs, "Come on then. Let's go to lunch."

"Now you're talking," Jordy laughs. He goes to sling free arm around his sister's shoulders, stopping midair when she flinches away. "Sorry," he mumbles, sad and embarrassed, "Forgot."

"It's ok," Izzy replies, quickly regaining her composure, putting on a brave smile. Jokingly, she adds, "Don't worry so much. I'm not made of glass either."

Jordy smirks. "Ya," he agrees wistfully, "You're made of a lot stronger stuff than that."

xxXxx

Izzy buys furniture, a big, soft couch, a few tall chairs for their kitchen bar, two beds, two dressers. She buys new linens, towels, bathmats. Dishes and cookware. It takes hours to get everything moved in, but it's worth it to see the apartment looking so normal and homey.

Jordy's leg is a bit achy from all the walking, so they stay in for dinner. Izzy makes chicken and broccoli. It's simple, but Jordy gushes as he eats.

"You're an excellent cook," he beams, spearing another bite of his third helping, "I haven't had a meal this great in, like, ever."

"Cut it out, Jordy," Izzy laughs, picking at her meager portion, "It's just chicken and broccoli. I'm glad you like it, but it's nothing special."

"I beg to differ," her brother replies, scartissue stretching as he grins, "You're really talented. I'm liable to get fat and spoiled if you keep cooking like this."

Fondly rolling her eyes, Izzy argues, "It's _chicken and broccoli_. Hardly five-star cuisine."

Someone knocks on the door.

"And, besides," the girl goes on as she gets up to answer, "You've been eating prison food for nearly seven years. You hardly have a point of reference."

"Got me there," Jordy chuckles.

Izzy opens the door. She's absolutely stunned to find the Wallace twins standing on the other side of it.

"Surprise!" Myron sing-songs, his mop of curly brown hair bouncing into his eyes as he holds out a huge box of chocolates.

Chuckling, holding a pretty potted plant covered in clusters of small red flowers, Mac says, "Sorry for dropping in like this. I wanted to owl ahead, but _genius_ here was all about the unannounced visit."

"Surprises are fun," Myron defends, elbowing his brother lightly, "University's turning you into a grouchy old man. Stop studying every once in awhile and go to a kegger or get laid or something."

Izzy laughs, taking the box of candy Myron is still holding out as she says, "Don't tease your brother, My. And come on in, both of you. I can't believe you're here! I only just moved in today, and I didn't owl you guys yet to tell you about it. How on earth did you find out?"

"Oh, we have our ways," Myron says, giving a conspiratorial grin.

Mac sighs, "Myron was in Hogsmeade visiting the sweet shop girl-"

"She has a _name_," Myron complains.

Again, Mac sighs, long and suffering. "He was visiting _Sue_," Mac goes on, "Buying ridiculous amounts of chocolate just so he had an excuse to hang around the store chatting her up. He ran into Dumbledore, who told him about what was going on with you. Myron decided to kidnap me from school so that we could both rudely drop in on you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Izzy laughs, shutting and locking the door, waving the twins into the kitchen, "I'm always thrilled to see you two! And you're always welcome." Beaming, she stands next to Jordy and announces, "Jordy, this is Mac and Myron Wallace. They're good friends of mine from school. Guys, this is my brother, Jordy."

"Nice to meet you," Mac says, shaking hands with a polite smile.

Myron shakes hands as well, though he's obviously a bit more suspicious. "So you just got out of jail?" he questions bluntly.

"Prison, but yeah," Jordy replies, upbeat and unashamed, "I think Izzy mentioned you two. The student and the writer?"

"That's us," Mac answers, seeming to remember the plant he's holding, turning to Izzy and offering it out to her. "This is for you," he says, "Just a little housewarming present. It's a Butterfly Bush."

"It's lovely, thank you," Izzy beams, placing the plant on an open counter, "I'll have to put it on the patio when the weather warms up, see if it attracts butterflies."

"It definitely will," Mac laughs, "The University has them all over, and they're always crawling with butterflies and even some hummingbirds. I got this one from a friend in the Herbology department. She's been doing research on their magical properties and potential uses for potions."

"Oh, I think I've read something about that," Izzy chirps happily, "I might just have to do some research of my own... um, please, take a seat. Would you like some dinner?"

"I recommend it," Jordy pipes up, smirking at his baby sister, "Iz makes a mean chicken and broccoli."

Izzy blushes but smiles, making up two more plates as the twins sit down at the bar counter.

"Thanks," the Wallaces both chirp when their meals are set in front of them.

Izzy sits back down at her own plate.

"So," Myron speaks up first, fixing Jordy with a calculating stare, "You just got out of prison?"

"You already asked that one, My," Izzy murmurs, rolling her eyes. She probably should've expected her friend's reticence. After all, Myron has been like a big brother to Izzy since she was ten years old; he's protective, obviously worried, and maybe even a bit threatened.

"Oh ya," Myron replies, nonchalantly chomping on his meal, "So what were you in prison for?"

"One count of arson, as you might've guessed," Jordy answers pleasantly, gesturing to his scared face, "Six counts of manslaughter, four counts of attempted manslaughter. Fifteen year sentence, but I'm out after seven for very good behavior."

Even Mac, who has been thus far cordial, stops eating to openly gape.

"Hehem," Izzy clears her throat, pointedly kicking both Wallaces beneath the counter.

They regain their composure quite quickly.

"Wow," Myron coughs, kind of wide eyed, "That's... wow... you killed people?"

"Well, they kind of had it coming," Jordy answers with a shrug, "I thought they'd hurt Izzy. And I was pretty high at the time."

"So you're a drug addict _and_ a killer," Myron observes, kind of anxious now, nodding compulsively, "Ya. Ok. Holy crap."

"I haven't been either for seven years," Jordy states, still calm and good natured. Truthfully probably a bit amused at the reactions he's getting. "What I did lost me my sister," he goes on, quiet and sincere, "If I can manage to live out the rest of my life without doing anything half so stupid ever again, I'll die a very happy and fortunate man."

After a brief, slightly awkward, very charged silence, Mac speaks up. "Well," the shorter-haired Wallace twin states, "Good luck. I hope you succeed." Another brief beat of silence, then he brightly adds, "This is really great chicken, Iz. You're an excellent cook."

Jordy just looks at her and laughs.

xxxxxxxxxx

Certain dramas in my personal life have inspired me to say "fuck the world" and to sit in my room and write. This is good news for anyone who reads my stories because I'll probably have some more updates soon. Anyways, reviews, as always, are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated.


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